


Toward Myself and Others

by MisterPseudonymous



Series: Tales of Thera [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, CYOA, Choose Your Own Adventure, Demons, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Gods, Multiple Endings, Mythology - Freeform, POV Second Person, Politics, Poor Life Choices, War, occultism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-11-28
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 32,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterPseudonymous/pseuds/MisterPseudonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the desolate streets of the ruined Orphelia, a seemingly simple choice changed the course of the entire world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 001

**Author's Note:**

> TMAO started in 07, thus many of the older chapters are going to be rewritten. Originally, it was a spur of randomness and fun, it has now become a full world with mythology, magic, and a fair amount of tragedy. Even though, I am a forever-amateur, this story, no matter how crude, makes me ridiculously happy. (And I hope you all feel the love too.)
> 
> Monolith chapters are in the process of being rewritten I have 2/5 done—once complete the old chapters will be replaced.
> 
>  
> 
> **As of 5/03/16, I have a total of 43 chapters than need to get posted here lol.**

You never got used to the perpetual hunger for you feared that if you resigned to such a reality you would condemn yourself to death. That was why you left your meager, sparsely furnished house to the chilly cobblestone streets of (former) Citadel Orphelia. No longer was it the proud city that guarded the royal house of Leviathan. Instead it was a gathering of foreign forces and hungry paupers.

On your person was nothing more than tattered garments for if you had the luxury of fine attire, you wouldn't have to scourge the evenings looking for scraps or scarce work. However, you prided yourself—albeit slightly—on the basic iron dagger you hid in the folds of your clothes, and if you did not fear for your safety, you would have sold the small weapon long ago.

As mentioned once before, the streets were both cold and dangerous so you kept your dominant hand as close as you dared to the hilt, and tried to ignore the numbness etching its way to your bones.

Whenever there was a sound even remotely akin to scraping metal, you froze. Although it was a forced habit due to the occupation, it did serve you well to be aware if there were any patrols nearby. One would think that patrols aided the city, but it was quite the opposite. The soldiers were Evenine and not Leviathan, and therefore did not posses much empathy for the "denizens".

Once you could ascertain that no armed company was going apprehend to you, you progressed down the street but still kept along the walls. In the distance, the captured Castle Leviathan was lit in preparation for the coming night. You could guarantee that none of the royal blood were within its walls (if breathing at all).

It was sudden and unexpected and left you with a difficult choice.

A boy, probably mid-teens, sprung out from a narrow alley with a small band of thugs in pursuit. Your eyes, greedy out of necessity, became fixated on the bulging burlap sack that was slung over his left shoulder. That was probably what the brigands were after as well.

He was at a disadvantage. If he chose to fight with his kukri, he'd have to protect his goods, and he was outnumbered three-to-one.

_[Will you help the boy and travel along the path of the warrior?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12811682)_

_[Will you leave him to his own devices?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12812123)_

_[Or will you try and steal that burlap bag without knowing its contents?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12812192)_


	2. 002

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) |

You decided to help him, even though it was recklessness on your part. Quickly drawing the dagger from its impromptu sheath (you lost its sheath some time ago), you came a step short of him and asked softly, "Need any help?"

With his kukri in a defensive position, he spared a glance at you with a deep brown eye. "Know how to use that?"

It was probably at that moment that you realized you really didn't have any combat experience, and since a bluff would not be useful in this situation… "Not really."

"Then hold this and stay behind me, "he stated as he tossed you the sack. Fumbling, you managed to grab it, however, it felt awkward as you held it against your chest with the dagger still in your dominant hand.

City thugs must require their ilk to be innately slow-witted since any chance the three had had to snatch the goods was already lost at that point, and any possibility of success was also lost once the boy drew a second kukri.

"He's just a kid, a speedy little kid," the leader, you supposed, stepped forward with his short sword and prepared to strike.

To you, you would have thought that the man was pretty quick and skilled with his weapon, but once you saw the blonde boy put his curved, hacking blades to work, you saw the difference in skill. He used one kukri to immobilize the sword high and his other to hack horizontally into the midsection. If the wound were deep, it probably would be fatal.

The other two screamed in fury and charged—all sense of tactics lost. They must have been under the belief that he would lose if attacked by two at once. You, on the other hand, took numerous paces away from the fighting bunch.

It was the perfect opportunity for you to just run away. The boy was distracted, and you had the sack (which was a bit weighty and bulbous), but, even though you were desperate, that wouldn't be fair.

He sidestepped the first sword's downward arc, and, through the opening, nicked the man painfully in the side. Before the hurt man could retaliate, he moved closer to the other thug who was in the process of a forward slice.

It went well over his head, and the thug was promptly stabbed in the abdomen.

"I think your boss-guy is dying or dead, but you two will probably be A-OK. Still want me to hand your asses to you?"

They said not a word but opted to glare proverbial daggers. Together, the injured men decided to make their disgraceful retreat with the better off one supporting the greater wounded one.

The aforementioned dying or dead man was left behind.

"Thanks for the help," he turned to you. "I fight best with both of my weapons, so if I had to hold my potatoes, it would have been a lot more difficult. I'm Methuselah!"

They were fighting over… potatoes.

Methuselah began to ransack the brigand on the ground. "He's dead, as I thought. The sword probably would fetch a better price in better times, but beggars can't be choosers." He found something in a pocket. "Oh look! Five seolfor!"

The common currency of most kingdoms on the continent consisted of cuprum, seolfor, and geolu—with cuprum the smallest value and geolu the largest.

"I'm surprised he had that much on him. Oh and my name is…"

You were barely able to tell Methuselah your name when the shouts of patrols reached your ears.

"We need to go!" he shouted.

_[Will you go with him?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12845473)_

_[Or will you run away?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12835576)_


	3. 003

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) |

You decided to leave him alone. Not only was the affair none of your business, but you had little combat experience and thus, you did not want to risk your own safety for some stranger. 

The most important thing for you at that time was to either find work or a means to fill your growling stomach. Besides, a wise man once stated that one cannot fight on an empty stomach.

Therefore you were fully convinced that you had made the right choice.

Because you were born and raised in Orphelia, you were quite familiar with the streets. You opted to backtrack a couple lanes to avoid the ongoing skirmish, and proceeded to wind through a simple maze of dank alleys to wind up on the other side—several meters away from the boy. Now you were able to continue along your intended path.

Normally the local apothecary gave you tasks, but he probably did so because you two were somewhat acquainted. Although the money wasn't an exuberant amount, it was much better than nothing. Also, if you were to deliver medicines to nobles (since they are the only ones who can afford such a commodity) there was a possibility that your excessive politeness and haste would grant you a bit of bread or an extra seolfor. One seolfor could last you a couple days if you rationed your spending well.

Alois Ludwig, the apothecary, worked from his home, which was a fair bit nicer than your own. Before the civil wars and the current occupation, he was pretty well off. With the decline in general prosperity, he had to forgo the expenditure of the best ingredients and extensions to his business. However, the sudden lack of geolu in his purse did not hinder him from getting his job done.

You wondered why he still remained in the city, and though to ask him that.

However, your intentions were cut short with a sudden cry of "ASTRAEDA!"

And thus, you were startled.

"Are you talking to me?" The question sounded meek even to your ears.

The man's expression became crestfallen. His hair, dark and fairly lengthy, almost fell into his gray eyes. "So you aren't Astraeda. I was mistaken."

"I-I'm sorry." Were you apologizing for not being said "Astraeda"?

"It's not your fault, miss." He smiled faintly. "You see, I have amnesia, but I remember that name, so I basically call all the women a meet as such to see if I can actually find her."

It was a rather bizarre tactic for him to use, you supposed. "Couldn't you hire some type of guild for that?"

Once again, his face became jaded. "I've tried. No one can seem to gather information on her. I guess she's probably someone of no importance, but she must have some relation to me!"

"Good luck with that." You were at a loss for what to say. It was the first time you were presented with such a predicament, and, since you did not know anyone by the name of "Astraeda", you weren't of much use to him.

"Ah… Miss. I was wondering if you could help me. You see, traveling alone makes me nervous—having little memories puts me in a rather frightful mind frame—and I was wondering if your were in a position to travel with me. I know this will sound strange, but I get these _feelings_. Like, I can sense danger, or tell if something good will happen. And you give off a very positive aura."

After pausing, he added, "I'm Lluc—no surname as far as I know—by the way. I just thought that'd you'd probably want to know my name at least."

" _Is_ that your real name?"

"I hope it is."

_["I'm sorry, Lluc, but I just can't do that. I do wish you well, though."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12847206)_

_["Sure, why not?"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12846211)_


	4. 004

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (and subsequent arcs) is due for a rewrite in the future.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) |

That bag caught your attention, and you were in the mood to try and nab it.

Since the boy had his back to you, it was much easier to sneak up on him, and you hoped that the three would-be robbers would not alert him to your presence. As for your getaway, you knew that you could probably outrun those men, and you prayed that your knowledge of the city would allow you to lose the boy.

Your dagger was brandished in moments.

So, with that all well decided, you tried to grab the bag and cut the narrow end so that you wouldn't have to wrestle to fully gain possession of the sack. At first, all seemed to be going well, but that fantasy abruptly shattered.

You must have underestimated the boy considering that he was already aware of your presence by the time you made a move to grab his goods. He countered by knocking your feet out from under you with such speed that you weren't sure if he spun around or sidestepped to get into the proper position.

There was no way that such a quicksilver person was normal. Or was your visual capabilities sub-par?

However, you would not allow yourself to be beaten just yet. With all of the speed and strength you could muster, you tackled his legs together in order to make him lose his balance. It worked.

In the struggle he lost hold of both weapon and bag, but once again, you had erred. You never noticed that the robbers were closely paying attention and that they had realized what you were doing a moment too soon. It was they who snatched the burlap bag before you, and the boy was able to only graze the edge of it with his fingers.

Of course, like all sound thieves, they took off with no delay, and since the boy didn't quite get up yet, they had the advantage.

"Curse you, pauper-thief-girl," he uttered irately. "Now those lot of fools have my potatoes!"

Potatoes… You attacked him for a bunch of potatoes. At least it was food.

By that time he was already chasing after the men, but he yelled back at you, "If you try to steal from me again, I'll gut you good!"

Your failure and his threat really put a damper on your night—even though it was never pleasant in the first place. Disappointments hit hard and low as does poverty and oppression for that matter.

In the blink of an eye, like all things that night in seemed, an apple, smooth and golden, was tossed at you, and you were glad that you managed to catch it on such short notice.

"You seem to be better at catching apples than potatoes!" Although the voice sounded like it came from in front of you, you saw no one.

"Where are you?" you called out to nothing. Apprehension filled your gut. Why are so many bizarre events happening in one night?

"Behind you, dearie."

And thus, you spun around to face a stunning woman. Her hair was honey-colored or, put simply, a mixture of blonde and light brown. She had a delicate, ovular face with almond shaped eyes. Neither tall or short nor shapely or slim which left her in an odd equilibrium of sorts.

"I was wondering if you were so bored of your station that you would be interested in joining the Guild of the Monolith?"

"Isn't that a thief guild?"

She placed a hand on her hip. "Of sorts. We also deal with espionage and can also be employed as sellswords."

It was not hard to find this sort of opportunity peculiar. You were nothing more than a peasant in a beaten kingdom, and therefore you should not be given such a stroke of luck amidst countless misfortune.

Then again, was becoming a thief really that great a move?

Without further thoughts, you inquired, "Why me?"

"I'm in charge of new recruits, and you piqued my interest. That's reason enough for the guild."

_["How much will I get paid?"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12834004)_

_["It's probably better than this…"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12835396) _


	5. 005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long due for a rewrite since this was done before I had the long-term plots and lore completed. Fundamentally, the content will be mostly the same... then again Monolith has little in terms of "end-game" atm.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12812192) |

Putting on a lopsided grin—one that was meant to show that the current substandard conditions of life couldn't put a damper on your mercantile disposition—you offered with partial joking and partial seriousness, "How much will I get paid?"

The honey haired lady smiled. It must have been the right question to ask. "That all depends on you, hon. C'mon let's take you to HQ. "With a flick of her hand, she beckoned you to follow, and although you did, you weren't going just stare with a bovine face. 

"Whom am I speaking to?"

"Hibiscus." There had been no hesitation in her voice.

"Well now, Hibiscus, can we stop by my place so I can get my things?"

Hibiscus was only a pace or so ahead of you. She was walking with one foot in front of the other except she was exaggerating the movement. With anyone else, it would have been comical, but with the woman, it was natural. "Really now, darlin', I know the only important things you have are already on you." She politely paused and then went on, "You aren't going to tell me your name?"

Becoming a bit flustered, you hastily replied. "I'm—"

"No need. I already know."

You were almost certain her face was contorted with laughter that just didn't come loose, but since you could only see her back, you were unable to read her face. For the rest of the trip, you opted to keep quiet and observe.

Becoming part of the guild, any guild, was very fortunate. However, most of the… reputable guilds no longer had any branches left in Leviathan. Most of the ones that remained were not open for Leviathan's citizens. Monolith, however, was everywhere and nowhere. It was praised and admonished depending on whom it was that answered. The guild was also quite famous for its seedier dealings.

Of course you were wondering why it was that Hibiscus scouted you, but this was still a great opportunity.

She led you farther from the heart of the city, but not completely out of it. For some reason or another, Orphelia lost a lot of its life—more than just the people—it was as if the stones no longer had any color to them. As if the sky was grayer. As if food tasted blander… Scratch that, food really was terrible. Still, it was just that something and everything was, for lack of a better word, lacking. Amidst all of this, it was even hard for you to tell a lot of the building apart, but you could remember a time when you knew every inch of the capital. Now though, now you sometimes weren't as sure.

"We're here."

It was an old battered building. Honestly, you had no idea what you expected. Hibiscus caught you staring. "Yes, it's completely unimpressive. We don’t really want to be flashy here. Now do we?"

"I guess not," you mumbled as you followed her inside. The antechamber was dimly lit, so you really couldn't notice much other than the fact that it was bare of furnishing and sepia-hued. The hall beyond was similarly hued but you spied a stand. You awe-inspiring powers of observation revealed that it was both splintered and uneven, but you couldn't tell what wood it was made of.

Hibiscus opened a surprisingly polished door—probably something new—and you were then face to face with one very handsome but terrifying man. 

The first thing you saw was his eyes, but it wasn't because they were captivating. His eyes were scary—not because of any look in them but because they were yellow. Not brown. Not hazel. Not amber. Yellow. Buttercup yellow… Though comparing his eyes to buttercups almost made you double over, and you probably would have if it weren't frightening to stare at. Those eyes were feral. Breaking contact, you moved on to his hair. It was cropped somewhat short and slightly shaggy, and was black, truly black. It was the kind of black that no one really had; it was impossible, absolutely black. It was then that you noticed he had braids, two specifically, coming from the base of his hairline at his neck. One of them was tossed over his shoulder. You weren't aware of any culture that had that style.

"Like what you see?" He didn't introduce himself or offer any greeting. If he wasn't so intimidating, breathtaking, and otherwise otherworldly, you might have played along. No. He humbled you.

There was no doubt in your mind that he was someone very, very important.

Hibiscus saved you.

"Now, now, Gabriel. You're scaring the girl."

Gabriel gave a quick laugh and lounged back in his chair with the front legs several inches off the maroon carpeted floor. The desk he was pushing against was also the same type of polished wood as the door. He cut to the point. "Can she fight?"

"Not really."

If you had the nerve to speak, you would have sarcastically thanked Hibiscus for her faith in you. But you didn't have the balls, so you merely thought it.

He smirked, and it was heart stopping in more ways than one. "Is she smart?"

"She's not inbred."

It was amazingly awkward to have the pair discuss you—borderline insult you—as if you weren't even there. Though you said nothing, look must have showed on your face since Gabriel briefly met your gaze and snorted.

"Is she useful?"

"Not as she is now."

Without warning, he rose. Surprisingly enough, he was over six feet. He made his way, with the grace of a predator, and crouched down to your eye level. You could practically feel his breath on your face. He had long eyelashes. The instantaneous blush on your cheeks was impossible.

"Lobelia."

It took a moment to register. "E-Excuse me?"

"Your name is now 'Lobelia'." He elongated each syllable.

"It does have a nice ring," the blonde-brunette added.

Gabriel patted your head. "I have a feeling you'll go far, kid."

_["Kid…?"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12900247)_

_[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&chapter=)"A-ah…"_


	6. 006

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monolith chapters are due for rewriting. I do not have a estimate as to when that will be done.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12812192) |

"It's probably better than this…"

The slip of a woman frowned. "Of course it is. Or do you prefer starving in a rat hole with empty pockets?"

"No actually, I don't. Who are you?"

"That was rhetoric, dearie. Hibiscus." There was no hesitation in her voice.

"Well then. Since I really don't have anything worth taking, shall we get going?""

"I was just about to say…" Hibiscus was only a pace or so ahead of you. She was walking with one foot in front of the other except she was exaggerating the movement. With anyone else, it would have been comical, but with the woman, it was natural.

In an attempt to fill the silence, you made an attempt to offer your name. Hibiscus, however, cut you off.

"No need. I already know."

She led you farther from the heart of the city, but not completely out of it. For some reason or another, Orphelia lost a lot of its life—more than just the people—it was as if the stones no longer had any color to them. As if the sky was grayer. As if food tasted blander… Scratch that, food really was terrible. Still, it was just that something and everything was, for lack of a better word, lacking. Amidst all of this, it was even hard for you to tell a lot of the building apart, but you could remember a time when you knew every inch of the capital. Now though, now you sometimes weren't as sure.

Her scouting you was awfully suspicious. Face it—you were average. Still though, it was a great opportunity, if you could get passed this dubious situation.

"We're here."

It was an old battered building. Honestly, you had no idea what you expected. Hibiscus caught you staring. "Yes, it's as bland as your personality."

"And as old as you," you mumbled as you followed her inside. 

She gave you a lengthy stare with her hazel eyes. "I'll amend my previous statement. It's also as insipid as your insults."

 

The antechamber was dimly lit, so you really couldn't notice much other than the fact that it was bare of furnishing and sepia-hued. The hall beyond was similarly hued but you spied a stand. You awe-inspiring powers of observation revealed that it was both splintered and uneven, but you couldn't tell what wood it was made of. "Fancy words don't make you intelligent."

"Actually, they do. In my case, anyway." Hibiscus opened a surprisingly polished door—probably something new—and you were then face to face with one very handsome but terrifying man. 

The first thing you saw was his eyes, but it wasn't because they were captivating. His eyes were scary—not because of any look in them but because they were yellow. Not brown. Not hazel. Not amber. Yellow. Buttercup yellow… Though comparing his eyes to buttercups almost made you double over, and you probably would have if it weren't frightening to stare at. Those eyes were feral. Breaking contact, you moved on to his hair. It was cropped somewhat short and slightly shaggy, and was black, truly black. It was the kind of black that no one really had; it was impossible, absolutely black. It was then that you noticed he had braids, two specifically, coming from the base of his hairline at his neck. One of them was tossed over his shoulder. You weren't aware of any culture that had that style.

"Like what you see?" He didn't introduce himself or offer any greeting. 

"No." It was hard to not be intimidated by both his beauty and fierceness. There was no doubt in your mind that he was someone very, very important.

"I smell a liar. What do you think, Hibia?"

"Now, now, Gabriel. She's not much for conversation."

Gabriel gave a quick laugh and lounged back in his chair with the front legs several inches off the maroon carpeted floor. The desk he was pushing against was also the same type of polished wood as the door. He cut to the point. "Is she that stupid?"

"She'll learn. Eventually."

You scoffed like a petulant child.

He smirked, and it was heart stopping in more ways than one. "Can she fight?"

"I wouldn't place my life in her hands." 

It was amazingly frustrating to have the pair discuss you—borderline insult you—as if you weren't even there. Though you said nothing, the look must have showed on your face since Gabriel briefly met your gaze and snorted.

"Is she useful?"

"Not as she is now."

Without warning, he rose. Surprisingly enough, he was over six feet. He made his way, with the grace of a predator, and crouched down to your eye level. You could practically feel his breath on your face. He had long eyelashes. The instantaneous blush on your cheeks was impossible.

"Lobelia."

It took a moment to register. "E-Excuse me?"

"Your name is now 'Lobelia'." He elongated each syllable.

"It does have a nice ring," the blonde-brunette added.

Gabriel patted your head. "If you drop the annoying attitude and realize that you're not hot shit, there's hope for you yet, Lobelia."

_[](gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=)"Whatever."_

_[](gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=)"I'd rather not."_


	7. 007

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12811682) |

For a brief moment you thought of keeping his stash but quickly decided against it. However, you honestly didn't feel comfortable hanging with him since, you assumed, the patrol was after Methuselah.

"Sorry," you apologized while tossing his sack of potatoes toward him. "But I fly solo."

Not sticking around to read his expression, you immediately darted in the opposite direction because, well, the farther you are from him, the better off you ought to be.

The whole problem with your train of thought was that you assumed those were the only guards parading about the darkening streets. Clearly you were caught unawares when you ran slap-dab in a totally different cluster.

You know what they say about assumptions…

"Hey, girl. You're suspicious." Of course you had to count on Evenine soldiers to be total paranoid assholes!

"No, actually, I'm not."

"Denying it is even more suspicious."

"Or it could be because I'm telling the truth."

From what you could see of the head honcho's face, he was absolutely livid. "Don't try to weasel your way out of this!"

That mouth of yours was definitely going to get you killed one day. "Considering I'm not a weasel—"

Needless to say, you _really_ hadn't expected one of them to come up from behind and knock you out.

.  
.  
.

Waking up in a cold, damp cell wasn't pleasant. Nor was the fact that the blow to the head that had originally knocked you out had a damn good chance of being a concussion—which would be a sound explanation for your inability to focus your vision and the migraine your were beginning to feel.

Feeling around your waist confirmed that your dagger has been taken. Under you breath, you cursed the dogs for being somewhat thorough.

Your ears, however, were working fine considering that you could hear voices nearby—most likely your jailors…

Due to the fact that there was a slim beam of light on the floor next to you, or at least it appeared that way, you were fairly certain you were near the door. Scooting closer to try and hear better, you tried to make out what was being said.

The muffled voices seemed to be…

 

_[  
…talking about the prince.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12886396)_

_[  
…talking about you.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12886321)_


	8. 008

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12811682) |

"Let's get out of here!"

Perhaps reason was lost that ill-fated day when Citadel Orphelia fell. What else could explain why you trusted him? You trusted him. You trusted. _Trust_. In whatever shambles remained of once glorious city, trust was like the gaudy piece of jewelry that a person kept locked away. It's stared at, always stared at, but never worn.

Amidst the heavy footfalls of armored patrols, you said, "Yeah!" and sealed your fate by running after Methuselah. He could be the devil himself and yet you still would have followed.

Now the question that remained was this a dark day in Orphelia or were the seeds of hope finally sown?

Though you both were doing your damnedest to outrun and ultimately lose the pursuit, no amount of twists and turns seemed to help. Considering stopping was a luxury that would most likely lead to your death, you had no choice other than to press on. The tawny blonde made a hard left around a bend and you went right after.

For a brief moment, you had to wonder where Methuselah had gone. The feeling was short lived since he grabbed your collar and pushed you against him and into alcove's wall—effectively hiding you both in shadows.

His hand was covering your mouth as if he knew you were going to say something, and his eyes, brown like burnt sienna, were fixating on the passing forms of the Evenine men. Their deep red armor, akin to freshly spilled blood, had a better sheen than Leviathan's blue. You had to wonder how reflective it would be under direct sunlight and fancied imagining a swarm of Leviathan partisans flocking in on that red beacon. Your thoughts had run awry.

It would have taken one sound or movement to alert the passing foreigners, and then it'd all be over. The tension in the air was palpable, bringing a light sheen of sweat on your skin. Methuselah, though, seemed fine. Out of the two of you, he could take care of himself. You, on the other hand…

His calloused hand took hold of yours and broke your trailing thoughts. "We're almost there."

Almost where?

He lead you by the hand to an elongated dead end, letting go, he made to remove the grate at the base of the wall. Apparently, the bars weren't as stable as they seemed. Before he dropped down he called, "In here."

Moving towards the aqueducts' impromptu entrance, you peered below. The fall wasn't really far. "Here," you said as you lowered the burlap sack. Then you slid off the edge and landing on the chilly, and slightly damp, gray stone with a resounding _thud_. While you were recovering, Methuselah put the grate back in place.

"Are we safe here," you let the question hang.

"Probably, but there's a better place ahead." He offered a carefree smile, as if getting hounded by armed men was an everyday occurrence. 

"A lot of walking." You heaved a sigh and kept almost alongside him.

"I have food," came his singsong voice. As if on cue, your stomach growled.

Causing him to laugh at your expense. "Yummy, yummy food."

It felt as if you walked for hours, though, really, you didn't. All the while it was along a single path alongside the subterranean canal. Gradually, you noticed that the path was moving downward ever so slightly, and you saw no more entrances to the surface.

Suddenly, he stopped. To your chagrin, you walked right into his back. All that earned you was a sympathetic look.

Methuselah lightly traced his hands along the wall, feeling for something. Some of the stones he pushed inward with a slow grating sound. As for the order, you weren’t truly certain.

Either way, a small section of the wall opened like magic.

"That was unexpected."

He grinned at you. "Do come inside."

The room was decently sized and contained all the basic necessities. There was a cooking area—with stuffed cupboards—he had a bed in the far corner, near it was a bookshelf, on the opposite side of the room, he had some type of copper and glass apparatus set up as well as several sealed opaque containers. Littered about were some sporadic boxes, most of which were closed. A run-of-the-mill table with some matching chairs was in the center of the room. Apart from the copper still, the room was standard.

"Have a seat," he said while tossing the sack at random. From there, he focused his attentions on an already sitting pot. Scooping out a powdery product, probably flour, from a bag, he poured it into the pot and then placed a lid. After a few minutes, he served some of the soup in two bowls and sat across form you.

It had been flour. The broth was a light color, mostly due to the fact that it consisted of potatoes, carrots, onions, celery and… "There's no parsley."

He nearly choked on a piece of dumpling. "You're complaining about parsley?"

With a smug expression, you followed up, "It's for good breath!"

"Actually that's a myth. Saliva is what neutralizes odor, and parsley makes the same amount of saliva as most other foods."

…Leaving a gauche silence it its wake.

"How old are you again?" He had originally seemed to be a bit younger than you.

"Old enough." It wasn't a _real_ answer, but you'd let it slide.

"Alright, so you're a know-it-all then?"

"I may know many things but certainly not everything." 

"Really…" you shook your head.

 

_["Selah, you're not normal."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15479269)_

_["Thanks for the grubb; I ought to be going."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528064)_


	9. 009

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12811529) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12812123) |

"Alright, fine." Something had happened to him. It wasn't natural for a grown man to look so small, so helpless, so vulnerable. He looked like a child, a broken child. And that was the problem.

You could shoot down a person—it was every man for himself nowadays, but when faced with someone so lost, so hopeless, so needing it was hard to simply turn away. Call it a weakness; call it a death sentence.

Perhaps the word 'Sucker' was written on your forehead?

Either way, your answer brought a smile to his full lips. Yet he still had that deep-rooted horror underneath it all. Whatever it was he claimed to not remember, it probably wasn't something he'd want to recall. Unfortunately, he knew that as well, and it seemed to have left him a paranoid mess. Oh, yes, he seemed cheerful enough when he first came rambling about some name, but, really, he was shaking. Not enough that it could be noticed right away, but the kind that if you stared long enough, it became noticeable.

You had a feeling you were going to regret this but…

"Lluc, let me make this clear right now. I'm not going to just up and leave with you, but I will shelter you for the night." It was so hard to curb the gesture to reach out and hold his hand. Six foot something, and probably older that you and he still managed to look like a troubled child who only needs a little maternal reassurance.

There was something in his stormy gray eyes that somehow compelled you to add, "From there, we'll see." Letting out a breathy sigh, you knew this was going to be one big quagmire, but you had already given him your word. To turn on your word… what would that leave you with?

"I have a friend who owes me some money. Let's go see him so we can get some food before the markets close."

Lluc wordless nodded and followed you down the desolate avenue. You noticed then that he made less noise than yourself while walking and found it fairly peculiar though thought nothing more of it.

Alois' shop was in the middle of the street that sported both other businesses and residences. A jutting sign embellished with "Ludwig's Medicines & Novelties" made it stand out more. Before the occupation, he used to maintain the storefront regularly, however, it seemed now that he doesn't mind so much that the paint was fading and wood splintering. He was in business long enough that most people knew him by name or at least heard gossip about him.

You were about to walk through the antiqued door when you realized a certain borderline bipolar wasn't coming. Before you could even ask, Lluc answered.

"I'd… feel better out here. You'll not be long, right?"

The cause of what made him suddenly so tense eluded you, but what could you do anyway? Lluc's visage gradually was lost from sight as you finally crossed the threshold and into the familiar store.

The interior was perfectly illuminated and not overbearing. Cherry wood shelves were lined against most of the walls and filled with jars upon jars of freshly picked and otherwise preserved herbs as well as fully mixed and processed medicines. A deep scarlet rug, fully complimenting the red of the wood covered most of the floor which made the room that much warmer. Where beige walls were bare, some landscape paintings were hung. The scenery didn't seem to be from Orphelia and perhaps not Leviathan either. There was a grandfather clock, one that you could've sworn was carved from the same tree as the shelves, nestled straight ahead in it's own little bare niche. All in all, Alois' shop had a very homey feel—perhaps so because it also served as his residence. Speaking of…

Alois was sitting behind a counter, which also served as a desk, reading a book. It was practically pointless to even note that he was reading because, well he was _always_ reading it seemed. He had a tan overcoat and matching trousers with a slightly frilly crème shirt underneath. His long brown hair, not too common among the men of Leviathan, was tied back for convenience.

"Well aren't you all a notch above bourgeois today." That got his attention.

"Ah. If it isn't my favorite little errand girl!" He promptly closed the book and slid his glasses up slightly. Alois was always well dressed, well manicured, and well mannered. Well outwardly anyway. You had some suspicions about him, but nothing concrete. Given his seemingly affable nature tied in with the right amount of intrigue, he was more often than not, the talk of the city. Or at least, the ladies. For all anyone knew, Alois Ludwig was a bachelor after all. "What brings you to these parts, my delectable pauper?"

_Delectable pauper_? Really, you had no idea what went through his head sometimes. Scratch that, most of the time. Not even gracing him with a response, you held out your hand and quirked an eyebrow.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Blast. You want your money."

"Righty-o, my probably-bitter-tasting-frilly-fruitcake."

He chuckled silently as he procured a nondescript satchel and placed it in you expectant, dainty hand.

Promptly, you examined the contents. "Three geolu and… Five cuprum? That's more than I expected! What was with that face earlier, sourpuss?"

Alois rested his head against several of his slender fingers with a far off look on his face. "Evenine, though they more often than not be bastards, aren't complete fools. They're gradually reworking the markets and attempting to fix the economy because they plan on staying here. Still, for the amount of work you did, it should have been more coin for your lint-ridden pockets yet." As an afterthought, he added, "Here. I found some lupy berries earlier today in the mountains. You ought to eat them sometime tonight lest they rot."

"How uncharacteristically thoughtful of you." Though the remark sounded snide, you were grinning like an idiot as you accepted the second bag, by far larger than the other. He must have found a ton while scavenging.

He put on a completely false expression and exclaimed a bit too eagerly, "You wound me, my Lupy Bear!"

_Lupy Bear_? You supposed it was better than "delectable pauper".

"Thanks a bunch, Alois! I have other things I need to take care of so seeya," you said as you quickly left "Ludwig's Medicines & Novelties".  
Faintly, you heard a baffled, "That's it?"

You knew you rather rushed yourself out there, but you were getting worried about leaving Lluc alone. On the topic of Lluc, you hadn't mentioned Lluc at all because, well, he never asked and mostly because it wasn't his business. 'Course you knew Alois well enough to might consider him a friend, but Lluc wasn't ideal table conversation given the situation.

In that brief, but all too long, time you were dealing with the eccentric man, it had gotten that much darker outside. The sun was still up but barely. When you couldn't spot your unintended ward, panic began to gnaw at your chest. Eventually though, you spied him.

He was huddled down hugging his knees. Even from that position, you could still tell that he was tall. His feathery soft black hair fell over his face. Lluc was shaking more violently than before, and you had a feeling that it wasn't from the chill.

Quickly going over to him, you touched his shoulder in a reassuring manner. "I'm sorry it took so long, Lluc. Look at me, please."

The boy in parody of a man slowly raised his head. Immediately, you fell back and choked down a scream. His eyes. His eyes were entirely black as if they were a mirror that was reflected a starless night. Yet you wondered if any night could ever be so dark, so empty, so cold. And he was crying soundlessly. Tears were streaming down his face, staining his clothes. No words could leave your lips, and the hair on the back of your neck and arms stood on end.

Finally he spoke, and you were glad it still sounded like his voice, "We have to go now. They're coming. If we don't leave now they'll…" He couldn't finish, and merely shuddered at the hanging thought.

Dumbstruck, you realized you had no choice but to answer him; all the while, he softly said, "Please, please…" over and over again.

What will you do?

_[Will you listen to him and leave?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15479404)_

_[Or deny the augury?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12886207)_


	10. 010

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12812123) |

"I'm sorry, Lluc, but I just can't do that. I do wish you well, though."

There was no way you could run off with this overly optimistic yet borderline depressed man… boy… person. His horror filled eyes did do their damnedest to make you feel guilty however, and it almost worked. Almost. You knew you were making the safest and most logical choice. Very few people could afford to be a bleeding heart. Not here; not in these times.

Still, you felt the need to try and give him hope, something to hold on to, "If you have nowhere to go, head back toward the main street and find the Blue Sky Inn. The place has food and shelter and is decent enough, and if you have no money, you can work for your keep." You finished while pointing in the direction he should be heading. 

Avoiding saying his name further helped to distance you from him. It was easier to deal with anything disassociated. 

Though sheer disappointment laced his features, you were not swayed. Before he went on his way, he stared at you with those haunted cloudy-sky gray eyes, as if to bore into your soul, and offered one last thought to ponder, "I don't know what you'll do, but you'll soon have two decisions to make. Both can offer you happiness and misery, though sticking with your friend might be the easier path."

He broke contact and half turned away. "Take care."

Dumbstruck and left to idly watch him retreat until he was no longer in view—lost in the black silhouette of the battered city—you barely registered the fact that you had uttered a meek, "You as well."

Trying to push away the awkward event, you made on down the road. It took some effort to keep the guilt from rising up. "I have nothing to be ashamed of," you yelled at the russet cobblestones.

The sudden display of near lunacy sobered you to silence. At least no one was around, visibly, to witness your spectacle. Many doors were barred shut and even fewer had people in them. A lot had changed.

But some things have not, or at least not by much, you thought as you spotted a familiar building.

Alois' shop was in the middle of the now fairly desolate street. A jutting sign embellished with "Ludwig's Medicines & Novelties" made it stand out more. Before the occupation, he used to maintain the storefront regularly, however, it seemed now that he didn't mind so much that the paint was fading and wood splintering. He was in business long enough that most people knew him by name or at least heard gossip about him.

Your feet pattered slightly on the few steps that led up to the heavy wooden door. Just like innumerable times before, you grasped the handle and entered your friend's shop.

The interior was perfectly illuminated and not overbearing. Cherry wood shelves were lined against most of the walls and filled with jars upon jars of freshly picked and otherwise preserved herbs as well as fully mixed and processed medicines. A deep scarlet rug, fully complimenting the red of the wood covered most of the floor which made the room that much warmer. Where beige walls were bare, some landscape paintings were hung. The scenery didn't seem to be from Orphelia and perhaps not Leviathan either. There was a grandfather clock, one that you could've sword was carved from the same tree as the shelves, nestled straight ahead in it's own little bare niche. All in all, Alois' shop had a very homey feel—perhaps so because it also served as his residence. Speaking of…

Alois looked haggard, or rather, unkempt in comparison to his norm. His shirt was pulled out and partially unlaced—slightly wrinkled, even! The deep brown overcoat, matching his pants, was hung on the chair the man was currently sitting in. However, any sudden motion seemed able enough to jostle it from its place. Through all of this, he had not yet noticed you. Instead he was fully absorbed in an unopened letter staring up at him from his bare desk—a desk devoid of anything else. No books, no papers, no nothing.

"What's wrong?" 

"Oh!" Perhaps you had expected him to react more… "You just came now?"

It was… odd. Normally, unbeknownst to most of the city it seemed, he was a quirky man with a penchant for making up ridiculous pet names. Yet he seemed, for lack of a better word, normal.

Lazily trailing your hand along one of the shelves as you paced about the room, you answered. "Yes, and you didn't answer my question."

His hands meticulously scurried about the bare desk, as if to tidy up the phantom mess. "What question was that?"

Pausing only to send a heavy, knowing look the brunet's way, you replied, "What is wrong with you?"

"There's nothing the matter. No, not at all." The entire time he kept eye contact, a straight face, and never faltered. If you weren't witness to his prior performance, you would have been fooled. You weren't. However, instead of pressing the issue, you decided to let it slide. He would tell you, hopefully, eventually, and if he did not, well, it was not your business then?

So instead you sighed, and let it go. Turning on heel to face the desk, you sauntered up and partially leaned over it, resting your head lightly on crossed hands. "Fine. Got some work for me, hm?"

Leaning his head back in thought, and slightly stroking his chin, Alois muttered, "Actually I do..."

He took a smidgen too long. "And?"

"Ah, uh. You recall the Widow Ephrath?"

After you nodded, he went on, "I—finally—got her order done. She always seems to want whatever is in short supply. I digress... Anyway, care to face the bitter, lonely streets for a bit of coin?" It was wonderful to see he got some of his pep back, at least.

Again, you gave him a deadpan look. "Of course."

Wordlessly, he opened a drawer and pulled out a neatly wrapped package. It seemed somewhat forlorn just sitting on that polished surface. As you made to pick the package, he grabbed your hand. "You know where to go, correct?"

"Mehetabel Ephrath's estate is on Rosenburry Lane... somewhere."

"Somewhere?" The skepticism was palpable.

"...Near Jolson's."

It was his turn to say nothing and offer a pointed look.

"I've been there before! Geez," you mumbled under your breath while subsequently nabbing the parcel and briskly retreating. At the door, you hesitated enough to say, "Be back in a few!"

"Don't get lost, my poverty-stricken mademoiselle!"

Yes, it was pleasant to see his spunk back in action. And yet...

Night had fully claimed the sky. Darkness crept along the streets and all seemed blacker still with the thought that Evenine was well afoot. Or perhaps that notion was more logically attributed to the thick clouds that hid the moon?

The dark was equaled by silence, a quiet that was thick with trepidation—that made one believe in monsters skulking in the shadows, under the bead, just out of eyesight… 

Pulling your clothing closer, from both the milieu and the autumn cold, you traversed the back streets, since it was easier to go unseen that way to Mehetabel's, or Ferin Jolson's… They lived in the same general area. Besides, you would remember exactly where she lived along the way.

It was almost strange that you had not seen any sign of patrols. Wouldn't they be out more at nightfall? Or perhaps they were galvanizing in brothels? That had to be it.

So the moonlight, or lack thereof, stroll was blissfully, perhaps forebodingly, uninterrupted. After a couple near subconscious turns, you found yourself standing in front of the aristocrat's glorified house. The creeping darkness gave the illusion that the manor was smaller, and the thick trees and other shrubbery aided the false perception as well. 

Shadows did that though… They could make something appear infinite or finite.

Ever since her husband died, you have not seen her. From what you remembered, she was rather kind, but preferred to keep to herself. Had she changed at all? Pushing the thoughts aside, you walked up the paved, groomed path to the tactfully ornate door. Her home, inside and out, resembled the lady—a simple elegance. She wasn't, as far as you recalled, one to flaunt her wealth, but always had a wealthy disposition.

The loneliness of the night, the streets seemed to have infected the Ephrath estate as well. 

The heavy silver knocker, in the likeness of a great bird—perhaps a heron—resounded audibly in the stillness. 

Nothing. You waited. Nothing.

Elizer, the butler, was a prompt man. And even so, nothing.

Everything about this night was wrong.

 

_[Do you try once more?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12848443)_

_[Or return to Alois?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15726910)_


	11. 011

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12847206) |

Just one more time. All you had to do was knock one more time for the sake of trying. The third attempt was always the final, most complete, most hopeful, and otherwise significant action. Something about it was special, like the relevance of everything else was to lead up to that one point in time… to that third try. So you raised the ornate knocker and banged it resolutely on the metal base.

…And there was nothing.

While wondering how much the task turned out to be a waste of time, you twirled to leave. The silence of the night, the foreboding you had felt, had all been for nothing, it seemed. Perhaps a bit disappointed—

_THUD…CRASH_!

The world stopped. No thoughts, just the echo of that one noise repeating in your head. Slowly, as if you were not in control of your very body, you turned back to that door. Did it become larger? Was it always so uninviting? Were those shadows clawing at the edge of your vision moving?

When your hand was just about to touch the smooth handle, you froze. It could have been all in your head. You did not _have_ to go any further. Hell, you could walk away right now, and all would be right in your world.

But someone could be hurt. Besides, the door was probably locked anyway—

It opened soundlessly, fluidly, like its sole purpose was to acquiesce to your whims.

The antechamber was barely lit, making it hard to see anything. The hallway had better illumination, so you followed it like a beacon. At first you wondered if you would ever find where the sound had come from, if it ever really happened at all. Maybe Mehetabel and whoever else was within these walls would think you a thief. What then?

And then you saw him. Standing at the back of the large hall, at the large window where two flights of stairs met like lovers, he was. Clothed in a cloak that consumed the night around him, nothing conclusive about his shape was visible. A nondescript mask of the purest white, like bleached bone, covered his face. Only those eyes, those lavender eyes, were visible. Perhaps he wasn't a man; perhaps he… was a monster. The cloth made the form as ambiguous as a shadow. Still, monsters could look like men, and men could be monsters… and the moon, so ceaseless and celestial, glowed brightly behind him.

That moment felt like an eternity.

Promptly he jumped through the window, sending glass fragments flying out, reflecting off moonlight… then shattering further on the paved ground beneath or lodging into soil.

Was he the one who made that crash? "Probably a thief…"

Where's Mehetabel? Still asleep? But Elizer should probably still be around… Or someone else. Shouldn't she still have personal soldiers? Burglaries have been on the rise for years…

Faint light was coming from a side parlor, though it seemed bright due to the lack thereof. 

Upon entering, you nearly stumbled over her crumpled form. The outline was familiar—the delicate curls of the groomed and styled hair—the glint of the ornament—the richness of the dress—the parasol pallor of her skin. She was lying on her stomach, with her head to the side. It was Mehetabel Ephrath. And you were kneeling in her blood. It was hard to make out, but you could _feel_ the sticky texture, the lukewarm temperature, and you even swore you could smell the iron in it.

Gently, softly, and dreadfully, you called to her, "Mehetabel…" The name felt like an epitaph, your voice a dirge.

"Y… You're…" she wheezed out between almost bloodless lips.

She was still alive!

 

_Do you try to save her?_  
Do you pilfer all that glitters?  
Or do you go after that thief? 


	12. 012

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12811529) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12846211) |

Slowly. So slowly. You made to hold his hand in the barest of touches, as if afraid that the contact would cause a volatile reaction. When it didn't, you started to rub his hand in a soothing manner. 

All the while, the blackness of his eyes disappeared like a sunrise—it was something gradual, beginning with a dark horizon, until the sun starts to peak out from the distance, with violets and oranges creeping out and trying to overcome the night. But when the sun finally emerged, all the world, would suddenly be light, bright, and day.

His eyes were gray again.

Lluc's severe shaking didn't desist, but he impulsively fell into you; forcing you to hold him in an awkward embrace. A hand went to his back, and, eventually, the quakes quelled to nothing.

"I feel like your mother right now." A poor attempt at lighting the mood, but an effort nonetheless… He remained silent.

"Let's go back to my place…"

It was then that he spoke, staring up at you with tear stained, puffy red eyes, "And then we'll leave? Away from here?"

"Yeah…" …Leaving out the fact that his spasmodic prophecy scared you shitless and you were rather hoping of a way to… deal with the issue in the morning. It was too much to handle in one night, and you couldn't tell the man that, you just couldn't.

In tandem, you both rose. The tall, dark haired man still opted to hold your hand, so you gave it a reassuring squeeze. If you let go, would he start to tremble again?

"It's not far." You escorted him away from the large storefront street and into the back alleys because it was easier to avoid patrols that way. Though the sun had fully set, leaving nothing but a cloudy black sky in its wake, you knew where to go. This was your city, after all.

With the end of the winding pathway in sight, you turned your head towards Lluc. "It's just and the end here!" And offered smile to which he meekly returned. It made everything seem more hopeful, that he smiled. Though there was still that sadness in his eyes…

Facing front once more, you were head to head with the… barrel of a pistol—a weapon that very few countries have.

"Don't move," the person, most likely a man, spoke in a thick accent you couldn't quite place. From head to toe, he was covered in black, and he wore a white, nondescript mask.

Despite the fact that it was your first time seeing a pistol, something that came from the I'Naghi Republic, you were well aware how fatal they are at point-blank range. So you were left to… be still or die.

The hand you had been holding, abruptly let go, and you think you heard some shuffling, but you weren't able to look behind you due to the gun at your head.

The man, again, spoke, but this time, in a language you didn't know. " _Cad mar gheall ar an cailín_?"

And then, from behind, someone replied. The vice was a high pitched, softer. Most likely a woman. " _A dhéanamh leis._ "

In horror, you saw him, heard him pull the trigger. Perhaps even a spark flashed in the gloom as the fuse was lit and then….

 

_It had been a journey toward yourself; toward others. But now, it is over._


	13. 013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I am posting this, I noticed that I could have phrased a few lines a wee bit better. Def can tell this chapter was done after a long hiatus. Gonna flag it for a simple rewrite later on.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12835576) |

It was a name. A name you thought you'd never hear again. It was the name of the only man in this world that you hate. They, those Evenine lowlifes, were speaking his name, and none of it was a coincidence because…

"Y'think… Sidhlan princess…"

You only knew of one Sidhlan princess.

Heart racing, blood boiling, you slid closer to the door. At this point, perhaps due to panic, your vision was lucid and focused. Your trembling hands braced against the door, not even wincing at the splinters. 

The guards were walking as they spoke. Their conversation was clearer. "It's strange though, ain't it?"

"Yeah. Who whoulda thunk it?"

"T'think there was already some emissary guy to come and get her."

"Like they knew she was gonna be here… But… Why's it jus' a fellow?"

"Dunno…"

You were so confused. After two years, why now? Why did that man come for you? _He_ had been the one to let you, order you to leave and never return.

Worst part was that someone from Sidhla was already nearby.

But maybe, just maybe, there was still hope of surviving this.

At first chance will you…

 

_[…try to escape.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12893563)_

_[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=)…find out what is going on._

_[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=)…or kill yourself._


	14. 014

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12835576) |

"So what're we doin' with that princeling?" Whoever that guy was, his voice was like grinding gravel. Uneven and dry.

"Dunno."

"Bah. Them big shots're takin' him t'morrow."

"Yeah. Prob'ly gonna take 'im to the gallows." 

The gruff voices became slightly fainter as they went down what you could only imagine was the hall.

"Hear that, princeling," the faceless guard yelled as he kicked door… most likely. "Soon ya gonna be with mommy and daddy!"

"And yer brothers too!" the other added enthusiastically.

"Oh? We killed 'em already?"

They spoke so casually and in a vernacular way… it made you wonder if all Evenine soldiers were like this. Or did country bumpkins get assigned to the heartland of Leviathan? Or maybe this was a punishment for them? Or maybe you were thinking too much into this…

"Yeah, yeah." You heard more rough kicks and perhaps a pounding fist. "Tch. He's…bore… Lessgo." They had gone much farther this time so it was hard to hear every word.

But the conversation left you with food for thought. One of the princes was still alive… for now, and he might be close even. 

A sudden series of coughs caused to you jerk. "Hello?" And for the longest of whiles there was no reply.

Then another cough, and you crawled to the source. The wall to your right had a sizable crack—enough to fit your hands through. "Hello? Are you alright?"

"Unfortunately." His voice sounded so young but so hopeless. The brief response left an uncomfortable silence, and you didn't like it one bit.

"Chin up, laddie!"

Silence.

"We're definitely gonna get out of here!"

And finally, "How?"

"Glad you asked!" Even though you were in a dank cell being held prisoner by Evenine hicks, you smiled. "Any minute now the Resistance is gonna come storming this place, rescue our prince, and set us free too!"

You thought you heard him chuckle lightly. "Oh?"

"Yeah! Just you wait! Then we'll go and kick the rest of the dogs out of our city, build up momentum, and take the kingdom back!"

"… I hope so."

"And you'll be reunited with your family in no time!"

Silence. Did you say something wrong?

"That'd be… nice." You thought he was going to fall silent again, but instead he went on, "Do you regret being born in this kingdom?"

Well. That certainly was out of the blue. "Hm… Hm… I'm not sure if 'regret' is something I can feel. It's not like I had a choice where I was born, you know?" Pausing only to find the words to continue, "The state this kingdom in is bad, yes, but it's still my home. I can't not help but love it… even if I hate it. That didn't make any sense, did it?"

"I think I understand what you are trying to say." 

Nothing else was spoken. Perhaps both of you were waiting for the other to go on but neither did.

Simply for the sake of saying _something_ you wondered aloud, "How long have I been here?"

There was some scuffling on the other side of the wall, like the boy was moving around. "Maybe it has been a day…"

Now _that_ left you flabbergasted. "That means… I _slept_ for a full twenty-four hours, give or take. I donno if I should be amazed or embarrassed."

"Perhaps it is talent!" He chuckled, and you felt the mood improve even if only a little. It was a start. No one ever said you couldn't have a few laughs in jail…

"So… you've been here longer than me then?"

"…Yes."

"Wow… You must—" But then a thought struck you… was it your imagination? "—Was it always this quiet?"

"No, I do not believe so."

Ears straining in the darkness—no one had bothered to light the sealed cells. The effort turned out to be for moot. In all honesty, you heard _nothing_. Wasn't that supposed to be strange?

 _Creaaaaak_. Was that the sound of hinges moving?

Then you heard the boy scrambling away. Had it been his cell that was opened wordlessly? If it had been the same guards as before, you thought there would have been wisecracks galore. But this… this was without warning.

"Hey, what's going on?" You whispered, hoping that only the boy could hear you.

"My Lord, it is I." Definitely weren't those bumpkins. Wait…

"Sir Freyde?" This was a person he knew? _Wait_ …

At this point, it sounded like the boy and that Freyde person had already left the adjacent cell. 

"Release this person as well."

"We haven't much time before those cur wake, my Lord."

"It is an order." _Wait_ …!

Before you knew it, your door was unlocked and open. The light seemed so bright and filled your vision, leaving you stunned. 

With a scoff, someone entered, roughly raised you to your feet, and led you out. The hand was firm and the grip enough to bruise—and it tightened every time you stumbled blindly. 

When your eyes adjusted, you saw the man, or rather, his backside. "You're short."

Freyde, because you were almost certain it was that person, turned to face you with angry blue eyes. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, _and_ he was unshaven. "You don't look like a 'Sir' either." Perhaps you shouldn't be insulting him…

Freyde heard something. Hell, it was loud enough for you to hear the footsteps! And he threw you into a wall and made to unsheathe his sword. 

"Ease up, Captain. It's only me." At that, the Freyde person, also known as Mister-angry-face-because-he-totally-isn't-a-sir, relaxed if only slightly.

"Where are the two from Monolith?"

"Meh. I told them to sodder off 'cause we can handle it from here."

"You… what?" Freyde was absolutely livid. 

Normally, you might have enjoyed this spectacle, but there were many things going on.

The pieces were put together. That boy, well he doesn't look much like a kid now that you can see him, that young man… no. Because, even you could figure it out. It wasn't like you knew what the third prince looked like, but you knew this redhead was that very prince.

Impudently, you were staring at him. The Captain and the idiot were bickering so they couldn't chastise you. The prince wasn't paying attention either. His amber flecked eyes were looked at something far, far away. 

Many things were happening.

You guessed you spotting it first because you, half crumpled against the wall, were the only one facing that direction. Perhaps the others would notice but…

Red armor… Evenine's red armor. The crossbow was raised.

 

Do you…

_[…yell?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12895351)_

_[…or tackle the prince?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12900310)_


	15. 015

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12886321) |

A day ago—or was it less—you had been in a dank dungeon, alone and disoriented and penniless. Now, though, you were in an extravagant room, suffocating in the bone bodice of a typical Evenine dress and staring into the eyes of the Bogeyman sitting at the other end of the varnished Pembroke table. Wanting no more than to drum your fingers or otherwise fidget, but you couldn't because Jarlath Kelly was there. 

Before you left he had been just a knight. Now, he was a knight-tiarna, a knight lord. He was a _noble_ now. The fact that he was able to advance so far in such a short time with such an… appalling nature was unthinkable. But the gilded _Tiarnaí Ridire 'Feathal_ proudly fastened on his overcoat, with its dual crows, proved otherwise. Eyes like fresh blood stared you down in a silent room. If he had been anyone else, you would have called him out on his disrespect towards royalty. “We leave tomorrow. Early.”

His beverage, an unsweetened black tea, was left untouched and he moved as if ready to leave. Just like that. 

But you found your voice and courage. “Wait.” After certain he would remain seated, you went on, “Can’t you just let me go?”

“No.” Face unreadable, a stony mask.

“I am Her Royal Highness, Daughter of King Edan and Queen Una, Niece of King Ardal and Queen Dervila. I command you to let me go.” You felt the tremor, however slight, in your voice at his name and wondered briefly if he caught it. Probably did…

“My allegiance is to the King, not you.” Unfazed and uncaring, he rose from his seat.

Slamming your fist on the table, the delicate glasses rattled on their equally fragile plates. “How dare you!”

Jarlath completely ignored you as he walked a beeline to the ornate door. Like the table, it was mahogany, but it had silver serpentine inlays—an apparent Leviathan fashion though that went without saying. Your anger, for many reasons, had you in no mood to appreciate the intricate décor. No, you just wanted to scream at him for his insolence. Even after living as a nobody for years, you still had your pride; you were your father’s daughter.

Unexpectedly, he spoke again, “ _Princess_ , you ran away from your throne and your country.” And then he was gone. The door gave an audible _click_ , and thus you were trapped. For now.

What to do?

What to do?

What to do?

In frustration, you knock the contents of the table onto the floor, soiling and staining the perhaps priceless carpet. That wasn’t satisfying. Grabbing the manila porcelain, you furiously chucked it at the door or wall, your aim wasn’t good. The sound of shattering china made you feel better, if only a little. 

You had probably pissed off Jarlath Kelly. You had most likely angered the _bogeyman_ —the very thing mothers threatened their naughty children with. Grown men, no matter how brave, feel, at the very least, some trepidation when in his silent, eerie presence. Because he wasn’t all that human. No matter how illogical the fears might be, they were dogma when one stared into his eyes. You shuddered, and you barely knew the rumors.

But how were you going to escape? You weren’t convinced you could manage that now, especially not here. But perhaps you could in transit. Depending on how many were to accompany you, the route, and the weather, the soonest you could arrive in Sidhla would be two days, and the latest around a week. Needless to say, you’d have to rest somewhere for the night. Those times might be the best opportunity.

You spent your time hoping it would take a long time considering one night would hardly be enough to make an escape plan. With troubled thoughts fresh in your head, you slowly fell into slumber, still on the floor…

But…

_Let me help you. I can save you._

_I love you, so I will send you away. Someplace far._

_No one can find you there. But where? Where do you want to go?_

_A country that isn’t. It’s such a pitiable land…_

_Or a little kingdom everyone forgot? It’s very lonely there, but I know you can overcome that._

_[Do you go to Miottír, a country that isn’t?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/13160413) _

_[Or go to Luotaria, a queendom in seclusion, forgotten by all?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/13161994)_


	16. 016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...In which bad things happen.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12886396) |

You needed to yell; to scream; to warn them all. Yet you were immobile against that clammy wall with a dazed prince and bickering knights around you. But still…!

“P-prince!” 

Freyde seemed to realize the danger before the others, but it was too little too late. The bolt had already pierced Abel’s chest before the knight tackled him.

The dark-haired one whose name you didn’t know yelled with great fury and charged the bowman with a quickness you’ve never seen. His mace crushed the soldier’s chest and he continued to bash him long after he was dead.

Vaguely, you recalled running. The three of you were fleeing, taking turns carrying the prince. He was alive, you thought. But it was hard to get a grasp on reality. Perhaps it was shock.

But really, it was the fact that Abel was bleeding. He, the prince who was all that Leviathan had left, was bleeding. The last remaining symbol of your country was bleeding all over the dirty floor.

There might have been more guards to impede your flight, but your sense of time and events were askew. After escaping Castle Leviathan you were in the woods. It had to have been Yuvel because that was the only forest near Orphelia. 

Countless voices were shouting, and you had no idea if they were friend or foe. The only thing you did know was that Abel was lying very still. The quarrel had been removed and your hands and some pieces of cloth were trying to stem the blood. Everyone else, the world, was moving at inhuman speeds while you and Abel were stuck in this never-ending moment.

But you could _feel_ him breathing under your fingertips.

His eyes opened, those pretty blue eyes with specks of amber… Those eyes that you had been admiring so soon ago... You wanted to smile, to tell him it’ll be alright, but you couldn’t. Because he was mouthing something. You couldn’t hear, but it was simple enough for you to read his lips.

_It’s okay._

He didn’t last the night. Sometimes, you think you didn't either.

 

A decade later, the world is a different place for you.

_[](http://www.lunaescence.com/fics/viewstory.php?sid=4508&textsize=0&chapter=16)Are you now part of the Evenine Empire, now killing those who had once saved you?_

_[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=16)Are you a member of the sparse Resistance, fighting to honor Leviathan’s name?_

_[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=16)Are you a treasure hunter, searching for wealth wherever it may be?_

_[Or are you tired of senseless war and spend your days traveling to find your own peace?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12912574)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was a dead end, but then I was all "fukkit timeskip!" I am will likely make use of flashbacks to fill in parts of the missing years.


	17. 017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At preset, I have 35 chapters total... so we are kinda almost there. lol
> 
> Again, all of the Monolith chapters are going to get rewritten at some point. As they stand, they are _okay_ but I know it can be a lottttttttt better.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12834004) |

“K-kid?” It was hard to not keep the indignant tone out of your voice. Hell, you probably pouted too.

Of course he chose then to ruffle your hair in that typical manner when dealing with a child. Or maybe he was like that to everyone? A brief image of him tousling some lord’s hair came to mind, leaving an odd, bitter taste in your mouth. Even though you had just been acquainted with Gabriel, you could easily imagine him having such an outrageous behavior without even battling an eyelash.

His irritating, mocking joviality must have been contagious since Hibiscus slung her arm over your shoulders and edged in close in a familiar way. “How ‘bout I get her _situated_?”

“Alright. I’ll leave it to you, Hibia.” Gabriel then went back to his desk and proceeded to do… whatever it was he was doing. It seemed like he was perusing some paperwork that he grabbed from a drawer.

Taking that as a cue for dismissal, Hibiscus half guided half drug you out of his office. Somehow she managed to close the door gracefully while retaining that position and it was unlikely that she’d let go any time soon. So you were left to fall in pace with her graceful stride, or at least try to.

Instead of going back the way you came, you went deeper into the dilapidated but apparently occupied building. The hall had grown smaller, darker. Then again, that could have been because of the thick cobwebs clinging to the ceiling, down the wall… You felt some of the sticky, silky thread graze your skin. Perhaps it was a phantom web… a pure fabrication of your paranoid mind. 

Hibiscus paid the webs no heed.

Lights, barely brighter than the sparse illumination inside, filtered through a large, gaping hole in the wall—showing that the rest of the hall had fully collapsed upon itself and was thusly impassable. As you passed through the unintended threshold and out into the algid black, you wondered if the tear in the foundation was a scar, a remnant, of the war or something else, something less.

The moon and stars shone brightly though…

“Where are we going?”

Her face nearly touched yours, she answered in a chipper tone, “To the dorms of course, dearie!”

Turning ‘round a bend, she stopped in front of a larger building—in comparison to those adjacent to it, anyway. “This is it, Lobelia. It might take some time remember all the locations we use, but try to remember this one, at least.”

Still draped over your shoulders, she nudged the battered door open with a foot. It didn’t seem to resist much.

Inside was only a fraction darker given that the ceiling was partially collapsed, allowing natural light to filter through in white streams. “Good evenin’, Dandel.”

No one answered.

The honey-haired woman _harrumphed_ and kicked a pebbly into a cubby, directly resulting in a, “Owwww! Miss Hibiscus!”

“You should’ve answered me, Dandel.” Was all she said as she lead you through the next set of doors and into the bright light beyond.

Well, it was more apt to say that it was adequately lit, but in contrast to the night outside, it was much for one’s eyes to get accustomed to. Hibiscus seemed fine though.

The walls were beige and the hall was wide, with many doors and branching halls. You could hear murmurs—couldn’t make out what was being spoken—but you could feel the place teeming with life and energy. This place didn’t have cobwebs though was bare still.

“Your room is pretty easy to get to,” she started as you both keep on walking. “Just straight at the end of this hall. And it’s the door with the fist-sized hole in it.”

In front of said door, she finally released you. You were just kinda staring at the busted door. None of the others seemed so damaged. “So… what now?”

Her gentle brown eyes stared incredulously. “We go in, of course.”

Without warning or any other semblance of decorum, she just opened the door and strolled on in.

The room was small considering it had three beds in it. By the beds were small drawers for holding some personal effects. Two of them seemed to have signs that they were used, though no one else was in the room. There were four windows, if the insanely slender slits could even be called that. The major light source was obviously candles.

“And this is you!”

Somewhat letting the fact that you were suddenly part of Monolith sink in, you asked in an almost-daze, “What now?”

“Sit tight and relax. Tomorrow we’ll get you situated and debriefed.” Hibiscus offered a merry grin before exited the room with a, “Seeya tomorrow.”

An eye and part of her face peered through the hole. “Try not to get into trouble!”

Slowly, or perhaps it just seemed that way, you approached the one bed that you thought no one was using and fell upon it.

This was your bed now. This was you room now. This was your home now.

Considering that tomorrow was probably going to be brutal, you tried to go to sleep. But it didn’t feel like your bed; your room; your home. So you just lay awake, wondering if hours passing were nothing more than minutes.

With a restless, huffy exhale you rolled off the foreign bed.

Purposelessly, you shuffled over to the damaged door, eyeing the hole. You balled your fist and put it through. It was a fair size larger than your hand. Ostensibly, anyway. Then you proceeded to trace the inside of the wound and hissed when your curiosity was rewarded with a splinter.

So you left the room with a frustrated huff you stormed out of the room—your mind failed to recognize it as _your room_ yet—and you began to wander the building that served as a dormitory of sorts. If it was anything like a real dorm, there’d most likely be more than just lodgings.

Resisting the urge to just open doors and see what was behind them, you settled with just walking. You really, really didn’t want to walk in on someone in their room. It was both rude and awkward… and potentially dangerous.

The sound of yelling and breaking glass hit you like a ton of bricks—not literally, of course. You were close enough and the sound was loud enough that you knew it came from the room to your right.

Maybe you were too curious, maybe you thought someone was hurt, maybe you didn’t really know. No matter the reason, you went inside without thinking.

Three pairs of deep green eyes stared at you with mixed emotions on equally similar faces. They were obviously brothers—they had to be—anything else would be an uncanny coincidence. 

Oh, and they weren’t fully clothed. Glory.

One seemed to be keeping to himself, lounging on his bed and tangled in blankets. He had a predatory smile twisting on his face as he eyed you. That alone sent your hair standing on end.

Another, sitting on the floor, was fussing with shards of glass in his foot. About him were the remnants of broken dishes and a drinking glass. He was only wearing pants, cut off uneven at the knees. It offered you a wonderful view at his pale, smooth chest—showing signs of muscle, between boyishness and manliness. He was definitely less than twenty. As he winced and cursed, he shot furtive glances at you, but otherwise went about his own business.

The final brother, or relative, or whatever had his arms crossed and straight out glared at you. His hair, as short as the rest, seemed just a touch darker. His clothes seemed to cling to him, like he had been sweating or working out. Just as he was about to speak out, most likely yell, the one on the bed interjected.

“Want to stir up some trouble?”

 

_[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=)Yes._

_[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=)No._


	18. 018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abel chapters are fun to write... partially since he is one of the "main arcs".
> 
> Arcs have a theme and his is "Taking what was lost."

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12886396) |

Without realizing it, without thinking, you forcefully tackled him. Knocking the pair of you to the cold, damp, soiled floor. Had it always been this chilled?

Then you saw it. The shaft had pierced your chest, so close to your heart. This was how you were going to die—you would have laughed—saving the life of the third prince, a person who no one expected to ever sit on the throne. And, with Evenine ever present, it was even more unlikely.

Soon the prince, too, would join you in the afterlife.

_What a waste._ You didn’t really know if you voiced that sentiment or not, but you didn’t really care either.

You were dying, and you closed your eyes.

.

.

.

You were warm. 

The pain, the tightness of your bandaged chest, informed you that, yes, you were alive.

And there was also, unexpectedly, Abel’s smiling face. His speckled eyes were bright, and his long red hair was tied back to keep out of his face. He even had a change of clothes. Still though, you wouldn’t have pegged him to be a prince. “I am overjoyed now that you are awake.”

“Where…?” You weren’t fully registering what was going on. Were you in some sort of cave? The walls were smooth, as if they had been painstakingly polished. You could hear the voices of men, slightly muffled and distorted, but there was too much noise going on to make sense of it.

But you were all apparently fine. For now.

“We got away somehow,” he smiled at you again. “We are in the Abadd Crevice. I never knew there were so many tunnels in here…” He seemed… happier. Something good must have happened. Then again, it wasn’t like you knew him well in the first place.

“I didn’t know either.”

“’Tis one of our better kept secrets.”

The sudden response jostled you, sending searing pain through your chest, but you tried to hold back the whimper, the quivering.

Freyde, still as shaggy looking as ever, sat beside you, after checking to see if the three of you were alone, that is.

“My lord, would you not like to eat?” After staring at Abel’s impassive expression, the knight added, “For the young lady as well.”

Shakily, the prince got up. “I will do that, S-sir Freyde.” And hobbled off into one of the separate tunnels. Had he been sitting in that uncomfortable position until his legs went numb? Or was he always that unsteady? You weren’t sure.

But Freyde, he sighed at the sight and shook his head in disappointment. Then he turned his dark eyes toward you, face etched with weariness. Wordlessly, effortlessly, he came in closer and eased you onto your back. “What?”

“Be quiet.” His tone wasn’t harsh. He simply stated what he wanted done. And he fiddled with the bandages that had started to bleed through.

“W-wait! Shouldn’t someone else be…” you tried to move away, but that further opened your wound. For such a small piercing injury, why did it hurt so much?

“If by ‘someone else’ you mean a ‘female’, know that you are the only woman in our present company.” 

So you really had little choice but to look like a ripened tomato, have difficulty breathing, and try not to squirm when he had to touch your skin to apply the medicinal salve. To his credit, he finished quickly, but you had no idea what he was thinking on that stoic face of his.

“It seems like I am troublesome,” you said after a while of silence.

“If it were not for you, my lord would be dead. For that I am grateful—nay—we are _all_ grateful. But…” He kept your gaze before going on, “As you are now, are not you _useless_ to my lord?”

Perhaps he would have said something more, but Abel came back, and so he left after acknowledging his liege with a deep bow. 

Abel sat next to you and offered you a bowl of wondrously warm broth. He really did seem like a commoner in those nondescript clothes… Though that was the point, you supposed. Could you have ever imagined sitting next to a prince, sharing a meal in the largest canyon on the continent? 

Well, more accurately, you were in the hidden tunnels that had formed within the Crevice, but still..

He spoke to you, but you weren’t really all there. He didn’t seem to mind, regardless.

Though the broth had very little to it, it was filling. It made the ache in your heart hurt a little less…

.  
.  
.

After less than a day, the lot of you packed up and went deeper into the winding passages illuminated only by the few torches and odd luminescent-stone necklaces that a few had. Honestly, you had no idea what they were, but it was pretty. The soft light reflected off of the smooth, glossy surface of the walls—you could even see veins of some type of crystal or mineral sparkling.

Your mouth was halfway open to say something to Abel, but you remembered he was taking point with Freyde. And you didn’t want to intrude.

Yet you didn’t feel so alone, you thought as one of the soldiers gave you a pat on the back. They did that. They smiled at you, gave you hugs, slung their arms over your shoulders. Sometimes they gave you snacks. Hell, they even carried you over difficult crossings, and though they offered to carry you longer still, Freyde would look back, and that would prevent you from accepting such aid.

He probably wasn’t even looking at you but… _Are not you useless?_

No, you couldn’t impose on these men. You could still keep up, mostly, and besides, it wasn’t as if they were unscathed.

Majority of them were bandaged, sporting some type of injury, but they seemed like old wounds—from a battle before they got stuck with you.

A weighty arm fell on your shoulders, and you almost stumbled. Almost.

“Girls shouldn’t have such cloudy expressions. What’s bothering you?” He was one of the few you knew by name, probably because he talked to you a lot during this ordeal. Dark complexion but with a wide, bright smile. _Jaakob_. 

What was bothering you? Too many things to count. Too many faults to accede.

“Can’t… they… find us here?”

Everyone knew who “they” were.

But Jaakob, after a moment of thick, fleeting silence, grinned. “The blizzard covered our tracks, and _they_ don’t know about these tunnels.”

“But what if—”

“—Evenine does not know.” Freyde cut in.

“But how can—”

“—Evenine does not know.” 

And everyone fell silent. The pathways seemed darker, smaller, claustrophobic…

Eventually, Freyde called for a rest in a surprisingly large cavern, and he spoke, voice resounding in the vastness, “We are near the exit, and soon we will be upon Erling.”

_Erling?_ You had not heard of it before.

“Evenine presence is highly unlikely since it is but a small fishing hamlet. However, our men there should have secured a vessel by now.”

How long ago did this disheveled man plan this out? You felt a twinge of respect for him before the bitterness took over.

If he was so smart, how come Leviathan got to this pitiful state? How come Abel’s father, his mother, his siblings had to die before Freyde got it right? But you kept it to yourself. You knew you were being resentful.

But everyone listened to him silently, faithfully, and he went on, “For aid, half of our coterie shall make for Teuta. The rest will remain here for the night and then regroup with the branch in Erling. Those to come with us are…”

You saw Abel walk off toward end of the antre. Impulsively, you followed that red head of his, again, without really knowing why. Perhaps you merely wanted an excuse to ignore _Captain Malachi Freyde_. After finding what had distracted the prince, you were glad you did because, whatever it was, it was _lovely_.

It seemed like a carving, out of the stone, crystalline veins and all. It was something coiled, like tangled roots, but you weren’t sure what it was supposed to be. It was very, very old. A lot of the detail had faded, and some of it had crumbled. It did retain some indescribable ancient majesty—especially with the thin streams of water flowing down it. Probably was due to the aforementioned snow from the storm melting.

You were about to say something to the prince but… _Are not you useless?_

So, you had to decide. You had to.

__[I want to fight for him.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15440383)  
[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=18)I want to find some way to help him.  
[I want to… leave.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15726853)


	19. 019

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...In which you are now a badass. Go you.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12895351) |

The sun, ever merciless, tried fervently to make you lose your focus. But you weren’t the same child from a decade ago—you were _different_ now. You could _do_ something now. And the masked bandits did not realize how outclassed they were.

They never did though, did they?

On your journey across the Dead River, you had hoped to have a peaceful stroll. Then, when you were all but half an hour from I’Naghi, the ever-annoying brigands decided to show up. But, really, it was to be expected.

Why were you venturing across the stretch of harsh sands and dunes that marked as the border between the I’Naghi Republic and Akasha? Well simply because you missed your boat in Akasha, thus you wanted to get the next one in the Republic. Besides, the air was better there. 

But, the swarthy, similar faces of your would-be muggers might make you miss your ticket off this continent. Again.

And that wouldn’t do.

“Gimme your baublies, and ah won’ hurt you, lady.” 

Unclasping your weathered cloak, because you had to in order to brandish your weapon, you wondered if the wind would carry it away. Seeing the paled faces at the sight of your huge hammer was well worth it.

Swinging the heavy hammer in a full arc, you slammed it next to one of the trio, and, even though the sand itself should have absorbed the shock, they could feel the tremors still.

They probably never really expected you to have such an intimidating weapon.

“Why don’t ya run off ta mama and give her teats a good suckin’ or ya rather I crush yer heads like overripe tomatoes?”

Oh, they chose teats.

Not bothering to spare a glance at their retreating forms, you picked up your discarded cloak, strapped the long hammer back onto your back, and went on with your uneventful day. But you did say, “Good choice.”

Though it was unlikely they heard you…

I’Naghi was much like Akasha, you supposed. Analogous architecture, analogous people. Well, they _were once_ one country. Then there was some type of religious schism… or political conflict… or civil war… or some other shit that always seemed to happen when “human nature” was put into the equation. Lo and behold, two countries were formed, and they were _still_ pining for each other’s throats.

You shook your head, trying to ignore such dark thoughts. You were gonna get on a boat, and leave this all behind.

The earlier sentiment hadn’t been a lie, though. I’Naghi _did_ have a better air. There were more shops, open markets brimming with energy and products from all over the continent and beyond. Where Akasha kept tradition as its focal point, the Republic sought commerce and monetary wealth. An entrepreneur’s paradise, surely.

And there were boats, definitely boats—the kind that would ferry passengers for a few seolfor!

Not playing any games, you went directly to the main port, and after some negotiations, you had a choice.

_[Take this boat, heading for the Kingdom of Magnola.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12930682)_

_[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=16)Or take that boat, going to Tian Men._


	20. 020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter to write back in... '10, I think. XD Tulree is a trip and a half.
> 
> **_Notes on the Magnolan Language:_**  
>  Ceyf/Ceyfe - Sir, lord, lady. "Ceyf" is masculine. "Ceyfe" is feminine. Both said like the word "safe".
> 
> Ques - my. said like "kes".
> 
> Ceréstul Lazril - is the old way to say "Kingdom of Magnola/Holy Magnola".
> 
> The language is still a WIP and is subject to revision at any time.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12912574) |

“Magnola.” Though the price was more expensive than Tian Men, the island nation held your interest. After all, the people spoke common there, at least. As if to try your patience, the shoddy excuse for a sailor—since there really wasn’t anyone else willing to handle last-minute passengers—counted each coin meticulously and irritably slow. Just as you were about to accost him, he beckoned you to follow.

“Ship’ll take a week to git to Mag if yer lucky. Two weeks if yer luck’s shit. And if ye git no luck at all, ye won’t make it ashore.” The sailor eyed your reaction, as if he expected you to show any trepidation at his grim words.

“Good ta know.”

At that, he frowned, which was clearly much better than looking at his almost-toothless grin. “Ye don’ have no room eitha, lassie.”

“I‘mma big girl.”

At that, he shrugged, disappointed probably, and kept quiet. 

The ship herself looked very well maintained, considering her crew. Though the paint was old, the structure itself was sound. There were patches in the dull white sails that almost blended in perfectly. The—you had to lock at the antique lettering embellished on the side of the deck— _Flying Albatross_ was a good size larger than many of the others in the port, and by the armaments that remain, it seemed likely that she once served as a private merchant vessel.

Once aboard, however, you realized that the extra space did not serve well in comparison to the sheer number of passengers. You were well aware of ships boarding until capacity, howbeit you never quite expected “capacity” to be _this_ cramped. For your first time on a sailing vessel, you were wondering how bad it was going to be.

One interesting facet was that the ship was ported at I’Naghi yet very few aboard were the dark-skinned natives. Hell, a greater deal of the passengers looked battle-ready and had an eager, earnest, full-of-wonder visage that no _real warrior_ would possess. There was also a lot more men than women. Keeping the hood up to cover much of your features, you made an attempt to stay out of the way and otherwise keep to yourself. It was going to be hard, simply because there were too many people in too confined a place. Would below deck be any better? The pit in your gut told you otherwise. Or was the queasiness due to the subtle sway in the ship?

Taking a seat on an unoccupied barrel in the middle of a crowd—there were plenty of crowds everywhere—you hoped it would alleviate that sickness you felt. All was well for a while, until the sails were full and away you went.

Finally, you were leaving the Lavyennt continent, and the harbor became distant in the horizon, mere terra cotta splotches against a peerless sky. You wondered why it took you so long to leave. Perhaps it took this span of ten weary years to let go of the past. Yes, you were going to do that. Your hands were soiled from digging graves, from making graves. It was well past time to move on.

Then a snippet of a conversation caught your attention.

“—be richer than a Kyrithan Bishop!”

The conversation was of a cluster of one of the many hopeful, not battle worn, youths that seemed key for passage to Holy Magnola. They all appeared to be twenty-five or less; each with arms and armor of varied wealth. Some blond boy with less defined features, well there were too many faces to recall, chimed in, “I bet ye dinnae have the skills tae grab a uni-corn.”

The original speaker, you supposed, was quick to answer. “Tch! I was the best hunter in my whole city. A horse with a pricey horn is nothing.”

“Ya mean ‘nothing to scoff at’! Don’tcha need some girlie to bag that ‘horse with a pricey horn’?” came the retort of someone whose face was hidden from your vantage.

This talk of unicorns and wealth must be the very reason why the ship was so full… it was full of _unicorn hunters_. Or hopefuls, more likely.

“Shame on you. The _Rullae Celaç'fyt-ur_ is a sacred animal of _Ceréstul Lazril. Tus-cefytel_!” The fact that the person was quite irate and used words that sounded nothing like those that you knew, you guessed he was Magnolan. But you weren’t sure. After all, you had little idea what the country’s original language was like—only that few spoke it and they were rich or noble, usually both.

“What?” Apparently, you were not the only one at a loss.

“Allow my humble but gracious self to clarify this imbroglio,” came the answer of another new face. He was blond, well groomed, but _foppy_. “That unpleasant man said, literally, ‘Shame on you. The holy unicorn is a sacred animal of the Magnolan Kingdom. Your mothers were whores who seduced married men and then were cast aside when they failed to take into perspective viable contraceptives and were thusly left with no choice but you raise you sodden beggars alone.’”

…What?

Immediately, the man in question protested the translation, “I did not say all of that! I called them ‘ _tus-cefytel_ ’—bastards!”

The fop replied without missing a step, “Exactly. I merely added a touch of artistic talent to spice up this little voy _age_.” 

The forming mob seemed to be torn between lynching the irate man or lynching the fop who fabricated the more insulting rendition. The artiste, however, added, “I merely reiterated what that fellow implied.” He proceeded to brush out the phantom wrinkles in his alizarin crimson shirt, and ever with an air of utter nonchalance. 

By which point the mob decided that, yes, the fop was not the one who really affronted them, and rightly proceeded to swarm the other man. You were almost tempted to break up the fight before it even began, but quickly decided against the thought. You were heavily outnumbered and it was hardly worth intervening on the man’s behalf. Especially because you did not know him, and he looked like a pain in the ass—the only pain in your ass you could tolerate was the stiff and probably splintered barrel you were sitting on. So the man tried to hide in the crowd while the others besieged him. Perhaps he’d escape. Or perhaps he’d be tossed from the crow’s nest. 

Instead your attention fell to the fop who seemed to be a smidge closer to you than before, and he offered you a look that was a peculiar cross between speculation and scrutiny. As if trying to figure out what _a person such as yourself was doing among a crowd of would-be hunters_. He had a set in his pale eyes, a hint of familiarity, that he almost knew you, but the sandy cowl was still in place so such a notion was impossible. When finally he spoke, you were surprised that his voice was not lost in the raucous that seemed to encompass the entire ship, “A jewel for your thoughts, _Ceyfe_?”

You could have been polite, really. “If ya wanna get in my pants, yer gonna have ta try harder than that.” But you were not a genteel person.

He laughed heartily with remonstration. “Oh, the lady misjudges me! I am but an honorable man seeking respite after a long, tedious, exasperating venture on cold, foreign soil.” He ended with a flair of the arms and a deep, exaggerated bow that left you stunned. Stunned that a person could say nothing in so many words and stunned that his border-esque flailing actions had not whacked someone upside the head in the process.

“Says a man mixed in a lot full o’ dishonest men. Says a man whose name I don’ even know.” The ship swayed more than before, causing you to stop prematurely. Again, your stomach churned and the multitude of passengers blurred and doubled with your failing vision. Closing your eyes and keeping a firm hand on your thigh, you steadied your breathing discretely. 

If the man took notice of your uneasiness, he made no outward signs of it. “Ah, my manners must have momentarily left me. Due pardon the belated introduction, my name is Tullré tyz Leyœl, a lesser lord of Celyad Fulael. Though ’tis easier to be called Tulree Layola, entrepreneur extraordin _aire_. And what of my lady?”

So, he had two names… you found that very fop-like. Or mayhap you were looked for reason to not like him? Regardless of your inner deliberation, your stomach lurched, and you immediately ran to the nearest rail—pushing aside all those who did not move away. More than a few offered some reproachful looks, not that you cared. Not choking on your breakfast, fowl and acidic it was too, kept you occupied.

When you finally stopped throwing up, you rested your head on the edge, hoping that the sick feeling would go away. For now, now one was bothering you, and if any were still glowering at you, you could hardly care less.

Or you could barf on them. It’d be almost worth it. Almost.

When someone suddenly started to run your back, you practically jumped out of your skin, but you calmed, albeit slightly, when you recognized the person. “Oh. Tully—”

“— _Tullree_ ,” he interjected as politely as an interpolation could be. Then, he handed a steaming cup of something that smelled sweet with a hint of spice. “’Tis ginger root tea, and serves swell to soothe the sea-sick.”

For the moment, you trusted him enough to take the tea. The aroma was pleasing, and, after taking a few sips, your stomach eased up. Even if the relief was all in your head, it was welcomed nonetheless. “Tully—”

“— _Tullree_.”

If you were not so exhausted, you probably would have sniggered. “Yeah. Do ya ever talk like a real person?”

His eyes widened a fraction. “I put much emphasis on speaking, _Ques Ceyfe_!”

You shrugged as effortlessly as possible, and stared out at the darkening ocean. How quickly the vibrancy of the sky and water became black, and still. But the sound of the water crashing against the hull, proved that there was motion yet to this dark world. “It’s ’cuprum’.”

“Par _don_?” He leaned against the rail beside you, giving you a sideways glance.

“Not ’a jewel for your thoughts’. It’s ‘a cuprum for your thoughts’.” Pithily, you wondered why you were opening up to him so much. Could it be there were dimply too many people and you would rather have his company opposed to another’s? Because you were lonely? Because he seemed the most interesting, but also exponentially more annoying? Because you were feeling under the weather…? “And, that tea didn’t do a lotta good.” You trailed, again feeling weak, and collapsed. Or, you think you did, but blacking out wasn’t something you could recall so easi—

.  
.  
.

The sound of gulls woke you, along with bright, warm sunlight streaming in on your face. Turning, you came to the realization that you were in a bed. A comfortable bed. You weren’t supposed to have a bed. “Tullree.” He was there, standing at the largest window of the modest cabin.

“I am glad that the lady wakes, and gladder still that the lady recollects my name as well. Such a glorious morn, _reu_?”

As you made to rise, Tullree quickly pushed you right back down. “ _Reu_. No. You cannot, my lady. The physi _cian_ , said that you must remain at rest.”

A frown marred your face. “I’m jus’ peachy.”

He shook his head. “Sea-sickness or no, you are not well.” He went on before you could even protest, “You wear yourself too thin. Though you have strength with you now, it will soon surely fail you. Given that you continue along this self-destructive path of yours.”

… “Don’ talk like ya know me.”

He spun on heel, and stared deep into your eyes. His pale face, a fairness attributed likely to a luxurious existence, held nothing but stern seriousness; if not anger. “Oh, but I _do_ know you. How many wield a giant hammer,” he pointed at your weapon leaning against a half empty shelf to further his point, “and how many are women?”

You said nothing.

“I know you.” Tullree confirmed once more. “You travel from battle-field to battle-field as a means to escape other wars, and I find it unlikely that your voy _age_ to Magnola is any different.” And then the man went back to the window, and out of your personal bubble.

For lack of anything else, you huffed in irritation and crossed your arms all the while. “Magnola ain’t a battlefield, at th’very least.”

“Holy Magnola is at war,” came his cryptic response, almost too faint to hear. But he didn’t elaborate, and instead softly muttered, “So much _wa_ ter this grand-sea has, yet not a drop fit for a man to drink, and the thirsty who succumb, get nothing but thirstier…” And then he trailed into silence. An awkward silence. You weren’t sure if you wanted to break it, and were even less sure how to.

So, you stared at the wooden ceiling and took solace in the fact that the movement of the ship did not bring about the sea-sickness. You let the silence linger, and the time trickle by. You listened to the call of the sea-faring birds and the sound of waves crashing against the ship. Sometimes, you thought you could hear his breathing, but it could have been the distortions of a gentle wind. You let that silence linger.

Because he was right about some things, or at least, close to the mark.

“I am sorry.” He faced you even though you had not turned to look at him. “I did not intend to be so capricious. There is actually a matter I wish to discuss with you.” He paused, before going on, “As I said, thusly, I know _of_ you. I know you are skilled. I wish to have you in my employ.”

“Why me?” You gave the wall a bovine stare.

“You are someone who knows the truth of this forlorn world—not like the bright-eyed fools who think of nothing but sunshine and unicorns and wistful woolgathering. You know well that people, good and ill, are slain and the world moves on.”

He paced—you could tell due to the sound of his footsteps on the polished and sparsely carpeted floor. “I need your strength to find someone long forgotten. Give me your answer when we dock at Dhor Çacella. I am sure there will be others to seek your hammer, if it is not with me.” And then he left. Solemnly, but not without purpose and not without one final warning, “Never forget that Magnola _is_ at war, _Leviathan émigré_.”

Was it sad that the first thought that came to mind was how he was _not-so-foppy_ at that instant?

The question, however, remained the same. Will you accept his offer, ambiguous as it may very well be?

[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=16) _Yes.  
[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=16)No._


	21. 021

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12893563) |

_Miottír. Take me there, please!_

That soothing, somehow familiar voice did not answer, and you were left to believe that it was a figment of your imagination gone amuck—a product of your unrequited hope for freedom. And perhaps you have gone utterly insane.

Then the floor; the walls; the world dissipated into blue-gray mist, and you were falling, falling, falling through a seemingly impenetrable darkness. You closed your eyes in unbridled fear, but when your feet softly touched land, you quickly opened them. Honestly, you had thought there would have been a more _violent_ impact considering how far you must have fallen. The lack of any physical trauma was… illogical. Everything was illogical.

But where were you?

It was a forest, an old one. The trees were higher and thicker than any you had ever seen in one place. There was a smell, though faint, of damp soil and moss. Sunlight made the trees aglow with a green fire. Odd, that you could hear no birds… but there were many on the branches, on the soil. Looking closely, you could see the movement of the small birds opening the beaks, the quake of their feathered bodies.

Why was there no sound?

And then you saw it—that blue-gray fog. The tendrils snaked between the branches, along the ground, and dominated the distance, keeping your vision confined to this small area. A large well of the unnatural fog was gathered by a small stream, and, with your mind ill at ease, you approached it. All the while, you realized more and more that your footfalls barely made a sound, that you were unable to feel the breeze that was making the leaves sway, or the very sunlight that should have made this copse very bright. 

There was a girl, you noticed suddenly, and she was hunched over the stream, her small hands swirling in the water. None of it, however, disrupted the water’s flow. The girl, her hair a coppery red, had a translucence to her. Just like the fog. Curious, you dipped your hand into the water, and the effect was the same. There were no ripples, and the stream went on uninterrupted. Never once did she show sings of being aware of your presence.  
Tentatively, you touched her shoulder.

There were ripples in the stream. Birds chirped a euphony. The wind carried the heavy sent of verdure after a heavy rain. The fog was gone, and the girl, solid, was staring up at you with wide, shock-filled eyes.

“Who are you?” her voice was faint, perhaps frightened. She remained still, as if unsure whether or not she wanted to come closer or run away.

After telling her your name, a confused look crossed her face. “I do not know you.”

You shrugged. “Well, this is our first meeting, right?”

She shook her head profusely. “I know everyone here. I do not know you. So you are not supposed to be here.” She started to splash the water, a look of sheer fascination was etched on her face.

“That doesn’t make much sense.” Brows furrowed, it was your turn to be confused. “What is this place? Is this,” you paused, trying very hard to remember the name. “M… Mideal… Miottír?”

The girl spun abruptly. “How do you know? What do you know? Why do you remember?” 

Her unexpected enthusiasm put you aback. The vague wording of her questions did not make much sense to you either, but you tried to answer. “I don’t know? I was sent here by… someone.” God, you sounded like a lunatic.

She came in close, examining you relentlessly. Then she nodded, as if she understood. “Yes, you are an outsider. Someone powerful brought you to this place. That person remembers while you do not.” She grabbed a fistful of the damp soil and dropped it into the stream. “I am Sibéal.”

You weren’t quite sure why, but you felt _attached_ to this girl. Was it because she was all alone? Or was it because her coppery hair reminded you so much of your mother? “Is this Miottír then?”

She rose, dusting off her olive dress. “This is Fhoraoise Fhiáne, the forest on the border of Miottír and the Methuselim tribes.”

You nodded, as if you understood. Vaguely, you supposed you did. You were at the edge of Miottír and some tribe you never heard of. “Can you take me to the nearest town, Sibéal?” You offered a hand . Her face was torn between sadness and excitement, but, after a moment’s pause, she accepted it.

“That way is to the road.” She pointed to break in the trees, and the two of you walked, hand-in-hand. After passing the clearing, you marveled at the road she spoke of. It was wide—wide enough for three decent-sized carriages. It was paved with multicolored stones, but they were so _smooth_ that you could not feel any bumps or other inconsistencies. Seeing as how the girl knew which way to go, you opted to follow her lead.

The sun was almost unbearably hot, but the wind and lack of humidity made it pleasant. You were probably going to get sunburn if you remained out in open, however. This place had no familiarity, not even the roads in Sidhla were this grand. Since the girl was silent, you chose to speak, if only to figure out the geography. “Where is Sidhla from here?”

Sibéal held your hand firmly. “There is no Sidhla.”

How could that be? Just where _were_ you, really? “Where is Leviathan?”

“The Isle of Leviathan is to the south and to the west.” Isle? When was Leviathan an island kingdom? You were going to ask some more questions, but the redhead stopped tersely. Mere moments after which, a man leapt down from a thick bough. He had a lithe, but wickedly sharp spear, pointed in your direction. At the ready.

“You trespass.” He was tall, and the slenderness about him made him seem even more willowy—but he had muscle, a taut rigidness and fierceness that showed he knew how to use that spear… and the long sword strapped to his back… and the knives buckled on his belt. Yet, what frightened you more than his armaments, were his yellow eyes. Never in your life had you seen eyes like that.

“At ease, Gabriel. These are not our lands.” The second speaker walked into view. He was shorter, but obviously had command over the warrior. Some of the tension dissipated even though Gabriel had yet to lower his spear.

“They trespass in your presence.” Was the man’s response. The dirty-blond placed a hand on Gabriel’s arm, and the man finally put his weapon down. He scoffed, though, and ran his free hand through his black hair that was barely able to be tied back.

The boy, smiled faintly, though the weariness in his eyes—that same unearthly yellow—belied the mirth. “Please mind my escort’s rudeness. Gabriel means well.”

The girl tugged on the hem of you shirt, and waved her had for you to crouch down. She whispered in your ear shyly, “They are the Methuselim.”

And the boy introduced himself, “I am Methuselah.”

An ear-piercing shriek broke the song of the birds, and ended the budding conversation.

Should you investigate—

As if sensing your thoughts, the little girl added, “It does not matter. We cannot change anything.”

—the fervent cry?

_[Yes.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15527917)  
[](http://gotvg.net/viewstory.php?sid=317&textsize=0&chapter=)No._


	22. 022

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12893563) |

“Luotaria!” Were you supposed to say it aloud like that? _Luotaria. Luotaria… Please._

Nothing was happening, so you paced around the fairly spacious room that moonlighted as your prison. Nerves were getting to you, causing your hands to tremble violently. You gripped the back of the chair nestled under the collapsible table. In the back of your mind, you found it perversely humorous that it was the very chair Jarlath Kelly had been sitting in barely an hour before. Your knuckles went white from the grip, and it was almost painful. But you were not shaking, and you were gradually steadying your frantic breathing.

You were afraid; afraid of many things. Returning to your country and to the present king scared you. He killed your father, was he now going to kill you too? But then why did he send Jarlath to retrieve you as opposed to an assassin? Why did he need you? What was he plotting? What—

_—Open the door._

But therein lay your dilemma for there were _two_ doors—and a handful more if the voice in your head meant the wardrobes as well. After waiting several moments for further clarification and receiving none of it, you started to open every door you could find. The wardrobe was your first choice. Ignoring the articles of clothing, you instead tried to feel for a trap door.

Nothing.

You opened every cabinet and drawer you could find, likewise looking for some hidden compartment or a key or _something_. Once more, there was nothing to be found with the exception of stationary and cosmetics. Hell, most of the drawers had been empty.

The slightly ajar door to the bath caught your attention… it _was_ a door, but that was a dead end, right? Hastily, you walked over to said door and pushed. It opened further with a long, drawn out creak… to reveal nothing out of the ordinary. Still, you scoured the smaller attachment, and all the while not knowing what you were looking for, but hoping that when you did, you would know it. That search only procured linens and towels.

Were you meant to tie them together and try to climb out the window? 

With an incensed huff, you returned back to the room, a room that was now in total disarray. A heavy gaze fell upon the one door that was overlooked. “No.. it cannot be.” Slowly, diffidently you crossed the threshold. Your hand was barely three inches from the shiny handle. “It’s locked, I know it is. Why am I talking to myself?” Gripping the knob, you turned and pulled, expecting the door to remain stationary.

But it opened, and you were left to stare in wonder. For beyond that door that should have been locked was not the hallway of Castle Leviathan but a forest. Inexplicably, you walked through the door even the disquiet was potent enough to bring bile up your throat. 

_Be careful._

The forest was tranquil, and the sun was scorching—making you all the more aware of how heavy and cumbersome the dress you wore was. So, without ever knowing where you were, you traversed the forest and kept to the shade as oft you could. Because of the vague warning from the equally vague—but hopefully benevolent—source, you did your best to keep your footfalls silent and cringed when dried twigs snapped from one of your careless steps.

The forest though, really did appear to be empty. You didn’t even hear birds or see any signs of other animals. Your pace was constricted by both the dress and the heat, and you had no idea how long you would last in it. One way to alleviate the issue would be to disrobe, but you did not want to be exposed. Perhaps you would find some body of water, or maybe find a town.

Barely fifteen minutes of meandering, you heard sounds that were not from you. Again, the warning came to mind, and you ducked under some thick shrubbery while peering out.

There were four—no, five—of them. They were dressed in pastels, and the fabric looked quite expensive. At least one of the group was a woman, but the rest was hard to tell due to the fact that all of them had their hoods up. They were pacing around, as if looking for something.

Will you approach them?

_[Yes.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/13162018)  
[ No.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/13162066)_


	23. 023

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/13161994) |

Stepping forward, you did not even have the time to regret it. As one, all five turned to you, and it took but a split-second for them to act. They lunged, and you were knocked to the ground.

It wasn’t just the hoods, their faces were bandaged as well, but you really did not have the luxury to ponder that. You were flailing, but they had you pinned. They stabbed you with small knives, and never faltered. You felt like you were being ripped apart, but perhaps you were too far gone to fully acknowledge the pain.

Funny, how, as you were surely dying, the only thought that crossed your mind was how rotten they smelled.

 _You had no grave; no marker. For what became of your body was that of your killers—a walking corpse with a heart long removed. You killed. You slaughtered. You tore still-beating hearts from unfortunate chests… and all of it was in the name of the Queen. You were one of the_ Cortege _. Forever. For always._


	24. 024

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/13161994) |

Again, the caveat resounded in your ears, preventing you from approaching the hooded band. Instead you chose to back away. Slowly, oh so slowly. Amid your silent retread, you were staring with unblinking eyes; waiting for them to notice you. They didn’t.

So you were back in the thick of the wood, but this time, you were more wary. Unfortunately you still had no idea were you were headed, but it was certainly in the opposite direction of the group you avoided. But… how would you know who was safe to approach? If you came across a town, would you enter? The voice told you to be cautious, but cautious of _what_?

The wind, making the limbs and leaves sway in a primal dance, carried no answer.

Left with little choice, you tallied on under the oppressive heat with hope swelling in your heart that you’d find safety. And answers. And lighter attire.

For the longest of whiles, all was devoid, serene, and silent like the grave. All you had for company was the wind catching the ends of your dress—and the breeze was welcome on such a hot, humid day. So you walked. For minutes, for hours, and you were still in the forest with no end in sight, no sentient life in sight, no presage in sight.

No schizophrenic bout of voices in your head,

At first, you thought it was the sound of a falling tree, but quickly you ruled that out for the sound was too subdued. Perhaps it was a branch instead? Looking around, you did not see anyone. Then came the sound of a heave implement breaking wood. It was likely an axe.

Should you:

_[Investigate further?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15440317)  
Or be on your way?_


	25. 025

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/13162066) |

As the chopping continued at a regular pace, you used that to pinpoint the location of the source. Creeping along as stealthily as you could, you espied a decent sized cottage. Again, came the heavy _thwunk_ , the somewhat gentle thudding of two halves of firewood falling to the soil. Then you saw him, the old man. At first, you thought he looked like a bear—tall and grizzled and imposing—but he was lean, and not bulky with his frame. His hair seemed bushy, sticking out from the bandanna he wore atop his head, and his beard was full, sporting a few braids, and had a streak or two of gray.

Oh, but the wood… There were cut logs almost everywhere piled as high as the cottage, set on sturdy metal racks to keep them off the ground and covered with animal skin tarps. It was odd, that after obviously having so much firewood, that the old man went on, chopping even more, piling even higher, and never seeming to tire. It puzzled you since winter seemed far away, and he seemed to have more logs than he would ever need for the cold months. And still, he went on.

Finally, he set down the large axe, and began to move the halves to the many piles. The rip took many minutes, and by the time he was nearly done, you were unsure whether he was someone to be wary of. Was he a crazy old man, did he eat people? Or was he husband of a dotting grandma that would make you pies and cookies everyday? He inspected a piece of timbre that was not cut evenly, and tested the weight in his hand. After done with that, he threw it… in your direction… squarely at your head… and you hadn’t the reflexes or wits to dodge.

Shocked as any one person could be, you thusly blacked out.

.  
.  
.

 

You opened your eyes, seeing nothing but a sky too bright, and then winced further and placed a hand on the sensitive swelling on your forehead.

“Yagh! Maes,” the old man spelled the letters of what you assumed was his name in the air, “is’m sorry lass. Maes thot ye was a bugaboo oot tae eat Maes.” He was mad, and you found it funny that you were most shocked about how you could _somewhat_ understand what he was saying.

Maes immediately helped you to sit up, albeit slowly, and offered you a drink that smelled faintly of mint. “Is goo’ fer ye head, lass.”

You weren’t sure why, but you accepted the drink. It was probably a concussion or a lapse in sanity or something to that effect. But the mint flavored water did alleviate some of the pain. He smiled though, and it was so genuine and kind. It was a smile that reached his crinkled eyes, and it made that tall, imposing man seem less so. If only a little.

He darted his head from side to side, and found a heavy overcoat he had discarded. “Maes’m sorry lass, but ah gotta go. Ain’ ‘nough wood fer thee winter. Ain’ ‘nough stew fer thee two us. Ye kin stay inside an’ git all comfy-like. Maes’m be back soon ‘nough.”

After further thought and a sigh, he went on, "Yagh. Thee kween been a bissy-bissy wi' gae'in hearts a many. So'n kween ain' been a bissy-bissy wi' gae'in them bugaboos." You weren’t sure if he was just talking to himself or if it was something you were supposed to understand, regardless, he went about his tasks. Maes slung a bow and quiver that was resting against the wall of the cottage over one shoulder and braced the axe over his other. Running, he went into the forest.

Running like he had little time to spare. Running like he had hellhounds at his heels. Running like all the world was aflame.

 

Did you trust him. Was he truly missing quite a few marbles?

_[](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15479233)Will you stay?  
[ Or will you leave?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15479224)_


	26. 026

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to notice that I never updated the link tag when I posted the continuation to this chapter. My bad. :/

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12900310) |

The greater part of your life had been spent _simply getting by_. Long before Evenine began her dreaded march upon Leviathan soil, when famine was ever present and civil war was the word on every parched tongue, there was you—you who avoided confrontation, kept your head down, and stood back as everything fell apart at the seams… one stitch at a time; one tear at a time; one fray at a time.

But surely, you had been too young to realize it, and too inexperienced to ever fancy resisting it! When what little was left of your friends and family went to the once distant frontlines to die, you thought it was foolish of them to go. It was so obvious that Leviathan would lose against the Empire’s might. When no one came back, you accepted it, and worked for whomever was willing to pay, whatever to survive. You were _acquiescent_ to your station.

However, with the young prince marveling at the peculiar bas-relief much too resplendent to have been made by human hands yet too contrived to have ever been naturally formed, you had to wonder if you had chose to fight back then, would it have changed anything? Could the meager weight of one life affect the course of history, the lives of many? Or would you have been just as dead and equally buried as the family whose faces were becoming less and less clear with every passing year? 

Abel finally noticed your presence and faced you with no small amount of surprise. “I would have never seen this if I stayed in the castle…” He trailed off before the topic could reach the dark depths yours had just been.

So you gave him a smile, and you weren’t confident that it was reassuring or sufficiently amicable enough to really ease his mind, but it was better than doing nothing. “I bet we’re one of the few to see this pretty piece of rock.”

In the background, Malachi’s discourse went on, the reverberations distorted much of his subdued cadency. It gave you courage to voice the underlying thought that had been waiting at the recesses of your psyche. “I want to fight for you.” Or perhaps it made you inebriated with the promise of a better tomorrow looming just out of your reach.

The prince kept silent and broke eye contact. He never said anything, as if unsure of how to address the statement. He remained reserved, for what else was he capable of doing? His home, his country, had become a place where he was no longer welcome. “We should go back before Sir Freyde worries.” Again, he changed the issue and never remedied it.

You stepped aside so that he could easily climb down from the large boulder—though it was more like a conglomeration of rubble—and onto the much smoother ground. It seemed like there was more water pooling and dripping from the ceiling and cracks in the cavern walls now, and it chilled your toes. 

“That man hates me.” The statement felt true. More often than not, Freyde was harsh in regards to you. Now you never pegged him to be a cold-hearted bastard since he really seemed to take Abel and his country’s welfare in high-esteem… and it wasn’t as if you were _completely_ undeserving of the man’s ire, and you haven’t known him for that long a time but…

“I am certain that is not true.” The redhead was several paces ahead and was fast approaching what was left of the Royal Guard. Malachi must have finished his address, since all the men were busying themselves with the preparations he had imparted… what was it again? Half would go to the village and then to Teuta, while the others would stay behind and regroup… The prince was soon swarmed with soldiers, asking him a plethora of questions and other banter, but you had something else to attend to.

Abel _should_ be going to Teuta, and you had a feeling Freyde would protest your tagging along. You were going to have to convince him, but first, you had to find him. There were only a score or more of you, yet the not-so-tall captain was not seen. After asking a couple men where Freyde had spelunkered off to, you were pointed in the general area of where the derisory supplies where piled—and not particularly high.

As you walked, you wondered if the man was truly there, and then you spotted a wispy trail of sweet-smelling smoke. Following it, you came across Freyde, sitting against a sack of potatoes, a cigarette of some herb in his left hand and a quill in the other. There was a well-worn book, perhaps a ledger or a journal, he was duteously writing in, and nervous or restless tic to his foot.

Not once did he notice your presence, mere feet from him. He was too engrossed in whatever he was writing. However, it did give you some time to formulate your argument. You _had_ to convince him why it was necessary for you to go to Teuta as well. Over and over, the conversations went through your head in a never-ending cycle of Freyde tearing down your character. Because it was true. There was nothing you could do!

Then his blue gray eyes rose from the pages and locked onto your face. The cigarette nearly fell from his fingers. And you interrupted the silence before he could say a single word, “I don’t care what you think, I wanna go to Teuta also. So what if I’m a useless human being—I’ll just have to find something to do! Even if you won’t let me, I’ll find a way to get on that boat. So don’t stop me, please!”

Freyde inhaled; Freyde exhaled; Freyde repeated. The twitch to his foot stopped, and the book was closed. There was a calmness set to his eyes—a look laced with disbelief but an understanding that whatever it was that made him doubt, was truly happening. “Of course you are to come.”

The air just dissipated from your lungs, leaving you with only a faint “what” as a response. Hardly coherent.

He went on, but not without sighing as per Freyde’s dealings with a certain petulant person, “You would be _useless_ —” Every time you hear that word, you cringe. “—You cannot do any reconnaissance. You are unable to fight. You have no resources or people that are of any benefit. You will be better off, for now, in Teuta where we can find _something_ for you to… accomplish.”

And you were left dumbstruck, as if you were being praised while insulted at the same exact time and had no idea how to even speak after the fact. What he said made sense because, somehow, he always managed to make everything so damned logical. You were glad no one else was around to hear how much of an idiot you were making yourself out to be… again. After much internal turmoil and deliberation, “Yes. Yes you’re right.”

There was nothing left to say, so you walked away listlessly. Funny how you were glum and shell shocked after getting exactly what you wanted… But then he stopped you with an arm over your shoulder—much like what the cheerful yet disheartened soldiers had done to you in the tunnels. “’Tis indubitably obvious that you are _useless_. You were not born into this world of war, and you were never trained to deal with such struggles. You are just a child who got mixed up by chance.” He stopped and lightly pushed you forward. It was enough to make you stumble a few steps.

“Go help the others get ready. We shall leave once preparations are done.” You nodded meekly in answer. Everyone was already getting ready, and you wondered how could all of these men look so busy by simple rearranging what little supplies they had. It could have been minute or hours— the passing time was lost to you. Eventually, everything was ready, and half of the group proceeded deeper into the Abadd.

There was a rucksack strapped to your back. It was too large and too heavy, or perhaps you were too frail. With every step, you thought the weight would make you lose footing or twist your ankle. Every time it felt like too much to bear, you watched the others. Every time you wanted to give up and stop, you glanced at the worn soldiers supporting the weight of each other and of their belongings. Every time you cursed the leather sack and the pain it caused you, you imagined that it was the life of a person you were carrying. Perhaps it was Jaakob, or one of the others, or maybe it was the prince himself you were supporting… The burden was heavy and cumbersome, but the weight of one pitiful life could change much. You kept on walking. Because people are never alone. 

When at last the lot of you spilled out into salty air and balmy sunlight, you felt as if you had been in the Crevice for years. Something intangible and equally indescribable was stirring within you. _Because people are never alone._

 

[__Continue to Erling.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528016)


	27. 027

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15440317) |

Pure insanity. Truly the fool was ridden with madness. The words you _understood_ made little sense, and everything else he spoke was simple gibberish. This cabin was hardly the civilization you were looking for. And seeing as he ran off, there was not a thing to stop you from leaving—clearly the most intelligent and self-preserving move to make. There was nothing to damper your decision to be done with Maes and his wood hoarding tendencies.

However, your eyes soon espied a simple sword among a menagerie of bizarre weaponry. It was compensation for your injuries. Besides, the next time you dealt with crazy, you wanted some protection… Even if it were a modicum of defense. 

The sun remained high over the treetops, so it was unlikely that much time had passed since you were knocked out by a well-guided and ill-fated log. Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly as sweltering as before. Traversing the forest, though, proved to be not so simple a task. There were no roads or many openings—just small animal paths that were lacking any _animal_ to speak of. The only sounds were those of your own making; the only sight undisturbed forestry. Undefined wariness made your heartbeat more frantic and irregular, and clenching your stolen sword just a little tighter did nothing, nothing at all.

Briefly, fleetingly, you wondered… perhaps this forest caused the man’s insanity. Any length of time in this eerie wood would be enough to put one’s mind in dire straits. It _had_ to be more than the lack of sound, the lack of life, the lack of people. What was wrong with this place? Why was it so hard to discern? The only choice before you was to press on and hope that you would be long gone before the answer was discovered.

Hunger indicated that a decent amount of time had passed. As did your weariness. As did a vague sense of time you were keeping. But the sun, ever high in the sky, belied such a notion. With a sense of defeat, you decided you had to rest. You were both completely lost and had no inkling of a notion what direction to go. So you turned on heel with all intentions of bracing against one of the innumerable trees muddling your apparent deplorable sense of direction. But there was someone.

Her face was set like stone, unfeeling and still. She wore a pastel cloak, and it was such a subdued shade of green—reminiscent perhaps, of pale spring. It made her eyes seem that shade, but they were not. They were grey like the rough crag she emulated. As you drew in breath to speak, she cut the silence, “You do not belong.” The words were direct yet also undeniably vague.

“No. I’m lost, you see? I’m from the village.” Lies and improvisation were becoming easier. Then you added, “They asked me to get wood for the winter.”

“No.” The woman took a step closer. A gold pin, barely held in place, glimmered brightly in contrast to the muted pallor of her long white hair. She never elaborated further.

“No—”

“—Villagers do not speak those words.” Another step forward. “Further, the fabric is not ours. The design is not ours. No village would allow a girl outside. Thus, you do not belong.” By this point, she was upon you, and peered into your face as if searching for something. But for what? Why? 

There were too many questions and just as many words to be voiced that eluded you. But you had to start somewhere. “Wh—”

“—Fight me.” The woman, strangeness on par with Maes, immediately drew her blade in one stroke. Almost instinctively, you ducked under. If she had never given that brief warning, would you have been able to dodge that first strike? But there was no time for wondering because she was already striking at you again. 

Clumsily, you stumbled backwards to avoid her assault. Your footwork was terrible, mostly due to the confines of your dress, but also because any swordplay you knew was in theory. Theory could not make her sword slower. Theory could not lessen her pinpoint accuracy. So, you stumbled. Had there not been a tree to catch you, you would have been on the ground.

But she was, again, in motion of yet another swing. The only thing you could do was, using the tree to brace yourself, lunge under the sword and to the other side. Hopefully, you would have enough distance to give you a few precious moments of safety. Her sword went deeply into the bark, and if you were lucky, stuck.

However, she discarded the trapped blade and kicked you from behind. You momentum diffused most of the impact, but it was enough to send you to the ground. As you rolled, she fell atop you, securing you in place. There was but a moment to stare at her impassive face before she embedded a dagger deep into your gut. The pain was bearable.. It would be fine… The fear and shock was numbing it. You would survive this, you had to.

Once more, she stared deeply as if trying to decipher some orphic riddle. “No. You are not the one.” The unnamed woman’s dagger fell a second and final time…

_Perhaps if you had survived but a little longer… Perhaps if you had met her a little later… Perhaps Luotaria would change._


	28. 028

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15440317) |

You decided to stay, figuring that there would likely be other opportunities to leave, and also considering that Maes could have already killed you and made you into little-runaway-princess-dumplings by this point… Not particularly saying that he _couldn’t choose to do so at a later date_ however. Ah, but you digressed. Besides, it was, really, really hot, and the cottage would at least offer some reprieve.

So you walked up to the door, nearly tripping over a log that had yet to find its way into one of the multitude of piles, and opened it. Slowly. As if waiting for something to jump out and scratch your face off, you peeked inside. Nothing happened, so you opened the nondescript door wider, and finally, went inside. You were nearly overwhelmed with the scent of pine, but in a pleasant way. It was an earthy fragrance.

Maes' home was... Well. Wherever your eyes wandered, there was a menagerie of something _ **s**_ to ponder. Shelves were filled with books and small carvings, the walls lined with weapons so diverse you could only guess where they came from. The overwhelming amount of information to take in was too much, so you made much effort to not focus on his hoarding tendencies.

“At least the floor is clear.” you mumbled to no one. Or perhaps that odd caricature of horned bear.... “No.. stop looking!”

Sitting on the edge of straw-packed bedding, you steadied your breath. Feet fidgeting in an awkward dance, what were you to do? Not much time had passed, and yet you were more restless and anxious than when you were trapped in the castle. Was it because this place was so strange? Was it because of Maes? Claustrophobia setting in? Or simply _not knowing_ what you were to do?

Could you really stay in this foreign land forever?

“Luotaria...” you trailed. Supposedly, that was the name of this country. That name, however, was completely unfamiliar, and you were well-versed in all of the common lands. Unless it were an island, Luotaria could not exist on the mainland. Or was it hidden in Wyrmtooth Mountains? Immediately the thought perished. Wyrmtooth had small clusters of villages, and not a one spoke like Maes. Logic dictates that the dialects should be similar.

Loutaria could not possibly be in Lion's Ridge. Such a place was, by far, too close to Evenine's heart and equally well-mapped by the conquering empire.

So Luotaria must be an island somewhere... or hidden in a valley that, by some fortunate twist of fate, was never discovered. You were probably wrong, however. Too little to work with. And you had voices in your head. So you couldn't even trust your sanity.

Storming to the bookshelf, you began to leaf through in order. None of the bindings had words, so there was little choice other than to peruse them all. Luck was not on your side. There was not a single book with words. Unintelligible scribbles, perhaps. No perceivable syntax or understandable letters. All you found were maps too crude to guess the region, and many, countless, innumerable sketches of creatures you have never seen or heard of in your entire life. 

With hardly much else to do, you skimmed the art. Many of the creatures looked very similar to common beasts, but they almost certainly had horns. After minutes, you noticed another commonality you had missed earlier—many had opposable thumbs. Quite peculiar.

Something _familiar_ caught your eye after turning a few pages. The tattered cloaks... faces covered... Could it be the same as those people you saw earlier? But why would they be in this book? After all, there had been nothing but mostly animals. Why would people or clothing be in it?

Huffing as you closed the book, you set it aside. This endeavor was hardly working. Questions were becoming more questions.

When would Maes return?

_Should you wait?  
Or should you go?_


	29. 029

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12845473) |

Shaking your head in defeat, you uttered a meek, "Selah, you're not normal." ...And proceeded to take a large spoonful of soup. The new silence festered an awkwardness. Perhaps you were at a loss because this was the first moment of calm in an otherwise topsy turvy evening?

He gave a pointed stare, and you chose to examine a small spill of broth next to your bowl. "I am a man living in hidden room... In the sewers. That's far from normal."

A moment passed where nothing transpired. However, a thought occurred to you, and thus the moment hardly lasted long. "And you wander the streets fighting bandits."

Dismissively, Methuselah waved his hand. "Oh hardly. Robbers are so troublesome, I'd rather not bother with them."

"Then what _do_ you bother with?" The fire crackled, and, fleetingly, you wondered where the smoke went. Did it escape through one of the vents? Did it mingle with a surface dwelling's chimney? Could someone hear the conversation if your voices were raised?

"I am a historian." Maybe it was your nonplussed gaze, or perhaps it was the lack of detail that caused him to continue, "A novice, mind you."

The knowledge stewed in your thoughts. Many questions formed, but would it be proper to be so invasive? So you settled with the less abrasive route. "Don't see any profit in that."

He chucked. "Yeah, I have maybe three cuprum to my name. It's very important though..."

"What is?"

Again, he paused to do nothing but regard you with solemnity and questioning. "History..." he drawled out the syllables, as if the elongation were integral for your comprehension. "It's necessary to prevent past mistakes."

You shrugged, not particularly impressed and continued with the meal.

Eager to defend his odd choice of occupation, the boy mulled for but a few minutes, and went on, "What if I told you that Leviathan has suffered famine, civil war, and plague on a regular basis throughout the centuries?"

"Everyone knows this isn't the best place to live." His information was hardly uncommon knowledge, and you did not want to admit your were _somewhat_ interested.

"However, none of the neighboring lands have been affected. Not once. All of this misfortune has been on Leviathan alone." Methuselah grinned, pride spreading across his youthful features.

Stirring the soup restlessly, you knew were being bitter. "So? You gonna magically fix this bad-luck country?" Very bitter, indeed. But was it truly your fault? He _did_ start this highly-sensitive subject. Honestly, would a person want to know that their entire country was doomed?

He did not miss a beat. "Yes." The resolute tone and the sheer abruptness caused you to choke. "Do you want to help me?"

You had to think. It would be very easy to leave with no consequence... but did you want to join this odd historian? Did you unravel these outlandish mysteries in some unrealistic fantastical adventure? You really wanted to believe his idea. How much easier would it be to blame uncontrollable misfortune?

_[Accept.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15726676)  
Decline._


	30. 030

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written like 3-4 years after the one before it. The struggle is real.  
>  ._.;;

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12811529) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12846211) |

How long had you been running? Minutes? Hours? Night finally settled, raising goosebumps of your flesh. Though, that could very easily be an effect of fear rather than temperature. Your heart was racing from more than just physical excursion, after all. Everything was quickly falling into the surreal.

His hand felt warm. His hand felt real. You squeezed it as you ran, as if it would ground the scattered thoughts and emotions. Would any normal person follow Lluc into the dangerous unkown? Abandon all that they had for a stranger? 

Perhaps if you had a moment to breathe, to gain clarity, you might have noticed that Evenine patrols were nowehere to be seen. All you could concentrate on was holding Lluc's hand and not tripping over your own feet. Whimsically, the pale moonlight escaped the passing clouds, guiding your exodus—your flight from the familiar.

So you ran. You ran because you could see darkness... darkness imprenetrable. Always from the corner of the eyes... and it brought back that cold, that emptiness, that fear. Gripping his hand ever tighter, you ran. Ran. Ran until your lungs burned and never stopped. If you were to stop, you would die. Or fall and never rise. Everything blurred, and you had no choice but to keep moving.

This was a forest. Orphelia long gone, trees and uneven paths littered your route. Was this Yuvel? As if belatedly distracted by the change of scenery, the man tumbled to the ground, dragging you with. He crashed painfully against a tree. Breathing, for the pair of you, labored. 

"I..." the reign of silence, broken. "am... ex... haust..." _Exhaustion_ prevented you from even finishing the sentiment. Your eyes were heavy, and it was never-ending struggle to keep them open.

"South," he spoke softly. "And east will be safe." If Lluc said any more, you were not aware. The battle to stay awake was lost.

Vaguely, faintly, you prayed that no trouble would befall your woodland slumber. But did you think of....

_East.  
South._


	31. 031

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not my most favorite of arcs since it will be linear for a hot minute. Came after a super long-hiatus.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/13160413) |

Before confirming that Sibéal or the _Methuselim_ were following, you darted towards the cry, just hoping that your adrenaline fueled dash proved true... and just hoping that it was not too late. The blond boy and his guard soon raced ahead. From behind, the young girl huffed in discontent. "Useless. Nothing can change!"

In between pants, you managed a meager, "Oh hush."

Running briskly through an unfamiliar forest while in full formal garb made it unimaginalby difficult to move much less breathe. So when you stumbled on the hem, tumbled with the regality of a five-legged doe, and a recieved a face full of pungent soil, it came as no surprise. By that point, Sibéal caught up and proceeded to brush the dirt and leaves from your person, her face laced with a calm irritation just waiting to ripple.

The dark haired man was mussing over a small child, dressing the wounds in a perfunctory manner. Methuselah, who had somehow fell beside you without your knowledge, eyed the scene as a detached observer. "The boy appears to be an ylf."

He was pale, but his breathing rhythmic and calm. All of his injuries seemed little more than scratches. "Why isn't he waking?" 

Gabriel looked up, giving an emotionless stare belying the fact that he was the first to tend to the child. It took him longer than necessary to answer. "...I do not know." Turning his attention to the person beside you, he went on, "Chief, we should take him to the ylfs. They must be nearby."

"Yes, we should." He gave a sweeping glance, lingering on your face. "Would you like to come as well?"

Sibéal grabbed your hem, shaking her head in the negative.

_Will you go to find the ylfs?  
Will you decline?_


	32. 032

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15440383) |

From the moment you glimpsed the exiguous, nondescript village thoughts of how to encapsulate it flittered in your head like a buzzing fly, begging for a swatting hand or disregard in no particular precedence. Even as the procession of weary soldiers filed through the wanting thoroughfare, finding the proper words, feelings to convey of Erling bugged you. 

Quiet townsfolk observed from the sidelines, faces unreadable. Or rather, you failed to ascertain whether or not it was hope or defeat pooling behind their eyes. So you looked down, away. Sunbaked wood, shades of varying color from repairs; warmth permeating through your soles, offered an easier understanding. Cold oceanic wind whipped your hair and clothing, and the dichotomy confused your senses. You lacked the dexterity to unravel these Gordian knots, thus you chuckled to yourself alone.

Only mere minutes after the last man boarded the modest but sufficiently adequate vessel, the sails were unfurled, catching westward winds and chasing a boundless horizon of gray and blue—of sky and sea. It dawned then, as jagged mountains on either side of Erling consumed the village like it never existed, the solitary word to comprise all of Erling. _Inconsequential._

Jaakob tugged your sleeve, quelling prior thoughts like seafoam dissipating on a shore. “Tired, right?” 

Nodding, you offered a meek, “Yes.” With that, the man led you down the lower deck--to the sleeping quarters. The swaying of the ship but a minor oddity. The faces, a blur, for you feared what would stare back. Slumber took you nearly immediately, worn by both healing injury and the lengthy trek, but not before you vaguely idled whether or not Prince Abel or Freyde had the luxury of private quarters. The boat lacked grandeur, after all.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

When you woke, a somewhat familiar blonde greeted you with a curt nod whilst arranging salves and bandages on a nailed-down stand. At first, you believed the hour early but once you took note of the empty bunks and hammocks, that notion shattered quite effectively. “Good morning? Ha…—”

“—Habacuc and ‘tis a calm afternoon,” he answered pleasantly, quite used to people having difficulty with his old fashioned name. “Here, let me aid with the bandages.” 

By now you were used to redressing of your wound. Any sense of awkwardness would be equally a waste of time and effort, and you felt grateful that these soldiers spent the time to take care of you even though… you lacked the ability to repay them. For now.

“‘Tis healing nicely. The scar shall be small and faint,” he hummed. “You might be well enough for light exercise, truly.”

Observing your pensive visage, Habacuc added, “The time would sail on by… And you shall be upon Teutan soil before you can bat a pretty eyelash.” The man did have a point, but why insist so much?

You gave a staid nod; regretting it immediately. Habacuc grinned, a victorious mirth spreading across his features like fabric absorbing a drop of blood. No… no that was far too dark. He practically dragged you to the upper deck, midday sun blinding.

Soldiers busied themselves—some you recognized—with combat routines, with aiding the sailors, or with making sure supplies were secure. A bucket dropped before you, water sloshing over the sides, jumped you back to reality. “For your first task in physical prowess, clean the deck, little lady.”

Oh…! Picking up drenched rag from the bucket, you began the task at hand. There was no denying that you got yourself in this mess. Habacuc, leaning against a mast, proceeded to rebraid his long hair without a care in the word. “I have faith in you,” he cheered.

Not terribly long after starting, others gathered, offering both encouragement and consolation. Apparently, Habacuc lost at gambling and was to clean as recompense, however you “had wanted exercise” and took the burden upon your shoulders, the selfless philanthropist that you were. A sore and duped philanthropist at that.

“Habacuc,” he was a newcomer to the small crowd and appeared to be younger than most in attendance, but… Yes. He accompanied Freyde when you and Abel escaped. Saul… Saul Jolson. “She takes an arrow for His Majesty and you fool her into doing your work?”

The man in question did not bother to look up his hand of cards, playing yet another game to be surely lost. “Oh, the little lady was rather adamant.”

“You!” Saul could hardly finish the sentence… The spectacle of Habacuc Neemias falling prey to his vices and _losing miserably again_ nigh broke him. Instead, the dark haired young man extended a hand and addressed you, “How about we go to the galley and get some food?”

You took his hand, weakened by his charming smile. Why did you have a such an acute sense of deja vu?

 

_[Continue to Teuta.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/17838793)_


	33. 033

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12845473) |

Letting the last iota of broth linger on your tongue before consuming, you came to a decision. This excursion was long overdue for an ending. Fortune favored you thus far, but you were well aware how fickle a mistress she could be. You could have been injured with the ruffians from earlier, and _definitely_ been killed or imprisoned by the soldiers. Orphelia’s alleys and avenues were rife with fracas… like vultures fighting over the same scrap of wasting carcass. Stop. Bad thoughts.

“Thanks for the grubb; I ought to be going!” the too-too chipper tone pained your own ears. In contrast, you listlessly rose from the chair, thoughts already wandering back to carrion. 

“Wait,” Methuselah halted you, perhaps pity or empathy in his eyes—both emotions equally vain and futile. After rummaging through his stores, he handed you two daggers very much like his own and a crudely made spiral pendant. In response to the quizzical look you shot him, he went on, “I noticed your dagger is on the flimsy side, and… the necklace is a good luck charm.”

You thanked him with a bow.

“If you want, I can show you some basic fighting with kukris?” Was the tawny-blond also attempting to delay your departure? However, his offer held much value. Even the barest modicum of combative knowledge would aid you immensely. You’d be a fool to refuse.

“Please.”

He grinned and unsheathed his curved daggers, slowly showing you fluid movements. As he demonstrated, you recalled how he implemented such maneuvers in real fighting. With your newly gifted kukris in hand, you mirrored him. A clumsy mirror, but a mirror no less. “A kukri both pierces and slashes. The curve of the blade gives it a deceptive reach. You’re doing quite well, by the way.” By that point, Methuselah switched to a shortsword and began to spar with you. Again, all movements were slow, as the goal a demonstration of blocking and deflecting.

“A single strike, if done with skill, will sever limbs.” He sheathed the weapon, the lesson over. “My advice for you is to build up strength, wait that is kinda obvious… You should learn how much strength to apply, but that might not happen unless you fight for real... “

He paused, eyes closed in thought for many moments. “OK. My better advice—Don’t be afraid attack with all you have. If you are in a fight, you can be damned sure that they have all intentions to kill you.”

You kept your gaze down. “Trial by fire, eh?”

“By blood and fire,” he agreed. “This land… no this world is misguided, but I believe it will one day return to the correct path.” But did you have such faith?

Once more, Methuselah escorted you to the dislodged grate, but this time, you walked in tandem—with a fair measure of élan—lightly tracing the spiral pendant all the while. And then you arrived at the destination. Sunlight filtered through the black bars, an unfamiliar sight. Even though you knew it to be mere hours, it felt like you have been in Methuselah’s hideaway for years—like a separate, safe, stagnant niche of existence. “Here we are.”

“I suppose this is goodbye,” you outstretched your hand to which he shook solemnly. 

“For now. I’m sure we’ll meet again.” He helped push you up through the opening once the grate pushed aside.

“Until next time, Saliva Scholar.” You saluted. 

“Until next time, Parsley Pupil,” he returned the gesture but not before laughing profusely.

With that, you parted ways with Methuselah. Your feet guided you in the direction of your modest home, a walk long overdue. The atmosphere, the air of the city, smelled different… tasted different—words to describe the sensation were hard to place. Or was it always like this and you just opened your eyes to it?

Before turning a corner, your ears picked up an argument; the heated tones promising a greater conflict to be had. Bracing against the wall, brief thoughts of deja vu, you looked down at your sheathed kukris. To facilitate a decision, you held the blade in hand. The weight was neither too heavy nor too light. Dare you say, _comfortable_. You touched the small notches at the base of the kukri, wondering what its purpose could be, and did not flinch when you cut yourself. 

A speck of blood on a once pristine blade… you drew first blood.

You spied from the edge to get a better grasp of the situation. A petite girl, dressed finely, was flanked by two rough-looking men. They were too clean-cut to be run-of-the-mill hoodlums nor were they wearing military garb. “Stop being so stubborn!” The man cracked his knuckles, sound and action exaggerated. 

“I will do as I will.” The girl, you noticed, had a mace at her hip and her demeanor quite relaxed. Those men did not intimidate her, so did she really need your help? You could always avoid them by doubling back a different alley.

_[Help her.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15602992)_

_[Leave her.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528157)_


	34. 034

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a wonder you get to walk out your door when your life consists of pop-up prompts every twenty feet.

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528064) |

No, it was not your place to intervene. You remembered all too well the last time you chose to help someone—though it turned out well, you really _should not be taking any more chances_. Perhaps the girl was a runaway or someone simply shirking responsibilities, and the men were only attempting to take her back. After all, you had no inclination of their identities or affiliations. You distracted yourself, and missed part of the conversation.

“Fine,” a defeated sigh escaped the knuckle-cracker’s lips—as far as you could tell, the second man had not spoken. “We shall only report this for now, but I am certain our paths will cross soon, Propheta.” 

Peaking once more, you confirmed that all of them were departing, the conflict diffused. See, there was no reason to be involved! Stepping out only when the street cleared—

“Halt!” You jumped, turning to face behind you… since you were obviously not paying any attention from whence you came. Of course some benevolent deity saw fit for you to be accosted by _yet another patrol_. “Desist at once!”

Desist what, exactly?

The Evenine soldier charged you, all the while you were frozen, wondering _why_. Wait! Your kukri was unsheathed, in your hand, and you were so blatantly being suspicious! He would be upon you soon, and words won't save you.

_If you are in a fight, you can be damned sure that they have all intentions to kill you._

He was alone; you might be able to survive this. What do you do?

_[Fight.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528235)  
Run._


	35. 035

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528157) |

The chance to run away long since passed. You drew the second kukri, took deep breaths to steel your nerves and hinder your frantic mind. Under your breath, you muttered a mantra, “Trial by fire. Trial by fire…”

You could do this. _Or you could die_. Trial by fire—

—And then his sword fell in a heavy arc, your mind shut down, but your body moved. Using both kukris to catch the blade, you successfully blocked. Far from being over, you pushed back with all that you had, and he stumbled, equally as caught off guard as yourself. No, the fight incomplete, mind still blank—he was open, vulnerable. Kill or be killed; do not be afraid; _trial by fire_!

You sliced at his exposed throat with no hesitation, no remorse, no thoughts. Lacking the strength and experience, the kukri imbedded itself in his neck much akin to an axe in an ornery log. You must have punctured the jugular… blood oozed and sprayed. However, as you saw the blood drip off the notches instead of down the hilt, you knew its purpose.

Oh god, you were killing—no, his brown eyes glazed over, his body toppled you—you killed a man.

“Brava,”the voice, accompanied by a resounding slow clap, congratulated. “Brava!” 

Forced to forgo your weapons, momentarily, to push the body off, you scrambled to unsteady feet. How you were shaking like a lone leaf in an autumn breeze! Bedighted in doggone _vermillion_ , he walked toward you resolutely, smiling as if he just witnessed a grand performance. His blue eyes, clear and bright like a wild wolf, pierced you, sending ice through your veins. The man’s head was partially shaved to further accentuate a gruesome scar. And he stood before you with those animal eyes, surely just like the fell beast that had raked his scalp. You were thinking too much.

He lunged at you.

You were thinking too much.

His greatsword, a blur, would sunder you in moments.

And then he flipped the blade, smacking you broadside. The world went black and you prayed to never wake up.

_[Your prayers are unanswered; proceed to wake up.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15726253)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The awesome [H0lyhandgrenade](https://www.patreon.com/h0lyhandgrenade?ty=c) drew this for me. Her comics are quite awesome.
> 
>  


	36. 036

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528064) |

Stepping out, but not before sheathing the curved dagger, into the open, you leveled with the men’s gazes—all the while praying that your face remained schooled. When they did not scoff at you, you felt relief… but no, keep that false bravado!

As you stood next to the platinum blonde girl, she did not bat an eyelash, and for many pregnant moments, not a word uttered. Upon closer inspection, though the men gave the impression of being tough—and to that you had no doubts—they were dressed casually, relaxed. You doubted they would start a fight.

When the man, the only one to have said or done anything thus far, broke out into an astringent grin and voiced, “I see you have an _advocate_ , Propheta. We shall just report your whereabouts for now.” 

Shrugging, the pair sauntered off. Conflict, at least for the present, deliquesced. Before disappearing into an alley, a different voice—reason dictated it to be the silent man—called, “Take a care not to be burned a heretic, Propheta.”

And then, they were gone… leaving you to stare at the elegant lass. Heart racing, the sound deafening, all you could see was red. Her overcoat a fine velveteen, but _red like the blood letted of your countrymen_. Avert your gaze; look elsewhere. But now, you eyes fixated on the brocade near her nape, you could only take cognizance of _two lions_ , the dual-aspected lion Kyrithi, the god of Evenine…

This was bad.

She bowed deeply, unaware of your struggle, unaware of the frantic tattoo of your heart, unaware of how sweet revenge could taste…

This was bad! What were you thinking?

“You have my gratitude.” She paused, pondering. Did your expression darken? Did she see it? No, she went on, “Would you like to walk together?”

 _Calm down. Yes, go with her. Everyone from Evenine_ can’t _be evil incarnate, right?_

_No, you can’t risk it._


	37. 037

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528235) |

Partially lucid, you were groggy, floating and delirious. Memories surfaced of a family, it could be yours just as it could be weaving of an altered reality. The details of their faces, so crisp and clear, were forgotten in an instant. The scent of something earthy and warm, nostalgic, but impossible to place…

You opened your eyes and wished you had not.

Sharp eyes leered down at you and fear, palpable fear, pinned you. Grasping at the sheets—ah so you were in a bed—you remained ever the mute, afraid that words would affirm this man, grinning like a devil, real and not a hallucination.

He applied a poultice to the side of your head, where he had hit you. “The mullein seems redundant, and it is possibly mixed ineffectively… I haven’t made this concoction before, so don’t hate me if swelling persists.” Oh, there were many other reasons to hate him.

Furtive glances, your eyes always returned to him quickly, revealed that your locale was a personal room. Books were strewn about and discarded in an unfettered fashion. He frowned, brow furrowed. “I cleaned the blood and polished your weapons.”

Blood… you started trembling. You killed a man, watched the life leave his eyes. Blood languidly flowing down the kukri, only to pool on the filthy ground—his weight knocking you over—a beast arriving at the scent of a fresh kill… _Stop thinking!_

Again, he looked confused, aware that whatever he was doing, he was making the situation worse. Yet he failed to grasp that the problem lied with _himself_. “Ah!” he exclaimed, edging the chair he was sitting on—albeit backwards—closer, arms reclined atop the backrest. “My name is Cnaeus. Cnaeus Ci Nerva. What is yours?”

All you did was stare up at his marred, pale face. Again, waiting for this nightmare to end or for him to kill you…

Cnaeus started tapping his foot impatiently, his breathing quickened, the prior tension drained from his visage. He inhaled deeply. “Listen.” A command, his voice harsh. “I need to lay this straight.”

Alright, this was it. He was going to tell you all the terrible torture he had in store.

“I am… rather infatuated with you.”

Oh god no. The implications alone scared you more than physical pain…!

_[](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528235)The nightmare continues._


	38. 038

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steps toward a legitimate journey...!

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15479269) |

Eyes burning from skimming countless ledgers and unbound documents, the shred of information you originally searched for was long forgotten. Rising to pour a bowl of creamy potato soup, you asked Selah if he wanted any. Clearly, he did not hear you as he uttered a noncommittal hmmph.

Has it been a day or a day and a half since you agreed? Time became relative whilst in a room with no windows.

“Methuselah,” you questioned with more urgency. At last, he tore his sienna gaze from the worn and stained map that he scrutinized for hours prior. Having his attention, you raised the bowl toward his direction, a silent offering for a reprieve. 

He accepted the bowl with weary, shaky hands. Sitting next to you, he breathed, “Thanks.”

Nodding, you elected to procure a fresh bowl. Methuselah sighed heavily. “What is it?”

He toyed with the thick soup, stirring it. “It’s going to be too difficult to get the information we need right now. Evenine is on high alert, and they have no reason to let us see the yearly records.”

Yes, the assessment contained much truth.

“But,” he began, calloused fingers tracing routes along the large map. “We could try our luck with testimonial evidence from the smaller towns… Or we could wait for this takeover to be less heated—I have a separate matter to handle in Adnan-adeema.”

You pulled at the skin of your lip, idly. “And what is in Adnan-adeema?”

He removed a stack of bound papers from his knapsack, sliding it over for you to grab. Its entirety devoid of words spare for the penned title: _A Thesis on Magick_.

_[Stay in Leviathan.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15727141)_

_[Go to the city-state, Adnan-adeema.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15727513)_


	39. 039

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12900310) |

Every time your eyes wandered to the empty docks, you saw it—vividly, distorted—the look of disapproving understanding staining Freyde’s face, feel Abel’s refusal to release your hand, Jaakob’s blurred form as he waved from the departing ship, smiling like a fool still. Every time, you averted your gaze.

The people of Erling were kind, kinder than anything you have known for years. Never asked for a single cuprum, one that you didn’t have regardless, for your food and shelter. The simple folk sagaciously gave you space, letting you think, ruminate. It made you sick; it made you feel less than filth. Should you have stayed with the others? The cell? Should you have never left your room in search of food?

Shaking such pointless thoughts aside, you needed to take a walk, have some fresh air. As you were leaving the village proper, you picked up a curious piece of folded paper. Colors vibrant, pink and yellow, it was made into the shape of a lotus or flower of some kind. Afraid it would blow away, you pocketed it. And set off to the narrow shoreline, purposely looking at your feet and not straining your sight at the horizon—looking for nondescript naval outlines. Days have elapsed, the others long gone… and safe, you wished.

While you made busy with wallowing in self-pity, you stumbled upon him. Long inky-black hair matted to his pallid face; his lips discolored, blue gray, and body decumbent, you feared him to be a drowned corpse washed ashore. Running over to check his vitals, all the while morbidly afraid, you tentatively touched his skin. Warmer than it looked. Ah, he breathed slowly, barely, but breathed nevertheless.

_Try to wake him._

_The Village isn’t far. Get someone._


	40. 040

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/12847206) |

Hugging the small package close to your chest, the night was maddening. Wind howling like a baying beast, you shivered uncontrollably. Thoughts of a mug or two filled with _anything_ warm, your only assuagement as you briskly walked back to Ludwig’s. The fine hair on the back of your neck stood on end, you kept on hearing footsteps behind you, kept on feeling the weight of an unseen surveyor… You bolted.

In the back of your mind, you kenned that hearing such echoing footfalls over the violent wind—another cold tremor down your spine furthering the point—was clearly impossible. Paranoia preyed on your perception and you ran.

Jumping over the few steps to the shop, you practically fell into the door. Not wanting to portentously look over your shoulder at whatever phantom gave chase, you retreated inside, vaguely aware that you probably locked the door. “Alois—”

Stopping mid cry, you beheld your friend, once more looking haggard at his almost empty desk. The letter opened, and in his hand a glass of—looking at the open bottle—dark rum, visibly shaking and not from the cold. Walking over to him, your skittishness temporarily forgotten, you questioned softly, “Alois?”

The older man looked up at you for the first time since you returned, once warm, jovial brown eyes now red and weary. “She is dead. I need to see her.” He downed the remainder of the alcohol and proceeded to refill the glass with unsteady hands. A small amount spilled over onto the letter, and he frantically blotted it with his sleeve.

This Alois Ludwig, borderline inebriated and on the verge of bawling over a scrap of paper, was contrary to the controlled but quirky friend you knew.

_Give the poor man some space and come back tomorrow?_

_He is your friend. Take care of him in his grief._


	41. 041

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15726676) |

The last image of Citadel Orphelia—red flags flowing in a dry breeze, smoke from chimneys and funeral pyres alike billowing, dawn’s light awash over a city too silent and too lifeless—would be forever burned into your eyes. Even as the arduous journey took you off the main roads, away from soldiers and their unwanted attention, you could see your former home whenever you closed your eyes. 

“Do you think we’re gonna sleep outside tonight?” you made some small talk while pushing away pliable branches encroaching the unkempt trail. The forest’s air was heavy with something familiar tickling your nose.

The self-declared historian readjusted the weight of his overstuffed bags, offered a hand to help you up the steep incline as the path led upwards. “More than likely. Wyrmtooth always lacked sufficient roads, but that is better for us right now.”

No, you never regretted to stay in Leviathan, on this foolish and self-imposed quest to unravel mysteries best left untouched. 

Wading through a particularly overgrown patch of shrubbery, you stumbled free into an unexpected clearing; the center of which, a castle stood stalwartly amidst notable signs of dilapidation. The sky, as you now had a clear view, a turbulent mess of gray and black. You remembered what you smelled—an impending storm. “Maybe not.”

Methuselah observed the sky and the castle, judging. “An abandoned castle, eh? Rather creepy, but better than being drenched.”

“Of course! Your deductive reasoning is as impressive as always!” You walked while he was deliberating, now nearly at the towering double-doors.

“And your sarcasm is just as predictable,” he huffed after catching up.

Playfully punching his shoulder, you chuckled out, “Forget the scholar stick, you should be an investigator.”

Methuselah eye-rolled as he shoved the doors open, the sound of rotted wood cracking as the beam keeping the doors locked broke mixed with the sky unleashing a strong but much needed downpour. Closing your eyes… _Pitter. Patter. Rivulets forming in the grooves of the cobblestones._

And then you walked inside. 

Once a few oil lanterns were lit, you both explored the large anteroom. Odd enough, the room had its own fireplace and, after perusing the chests and containers, preserved meats and sleeping blankets were also stocked. Standing before the a solitary door that must lead to a great hall, you jingled the handle. Locked—but you quickly noted the key dangling from a peg beside it. 

“I don’t think we should leave this room.” He commented over your shoulder, running a hand through his short, tawny hair. “I have a very… bad feeling.”

Picking up empty pots, you nodded in agreement. “And keep watch.” Slowly opening the heavy door, you placed the pots outside—to collect water—winds tousled your hair and rain spattered your face. Task complete, you closed the door, a barrier to the elements.

Methuselah, nursing a small fire, fed it small branches and splintered logs. The wood, conveniently placed close to the fireplace, seemed quite dry and burned easily. “The food doesn’t seem poisoned or spoiled. Still, something isn’t sitting right.”

The boy, ever the culinarian, fiddled with cooking utensils and ingredients—likely making a soup. Your eyes fell to the hanging key as you rolled out the sleeping mats and blankets. “I’ll take first watch.”

Thoughts raced through your mind, but what were they of?

_[Thoughts of the key.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15727201)_

_[Thoughts of getting through the storm.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15727297)_


	42. 042

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15727141) |

The key glinted desirably in the firelight. Methuselah breathed serenely, well nestled in the arms of slumber… or blankets. A log was fed to the hungry fire, a tactic to avoid that damn key. The storm raged outside, battering the, hopefully, vacant castle. Said log crackled quite organically. You snatched the key as per your curiosity dictated, but not before borrowing a lantern. Unlocking the door quietly, you just needed to confirm what was beyond the door. Just a few minutes.

The room beyond, indeed, a grand hall in the full disrepair you expected. Nothing unusual, and curiosity sated, you turned to—

“—Oh shit! Methuse—”

The pale man, who had obviously been sitting in utter darkness, shot from his chair, hand clamping over your face. His eyes, pale blue, stared you down with the most rebarbative indifference that you couldn’t fully explain. You wagered a great deal by the fact you could not breathe.

“‘Tis gratifying when the fools choose the door. A shame that so many commonly leave, and thus leave me so bored. Do you know how tiring it is to wait?”

You kicked at him, why was he asking you questions when you lacked the capacity to answer?

“Oh…,” his eyes widened minutely. “Oh, you must for you opened my humble door.”

Heart racing, vision darkening, you tried clawing at his hand. 

“Wait.” Did he finally realize? “ _Methuse… Methuselah_? Is he with you? Has fate truly been so gracious to me? For him to come to me like a fly to a honey pot…” He laughed darkly but…

“Oh… I suffocated you. How careless of me.” 

...You were already dead.


	43. 043

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15727141) |

For hours the rain poured, the sound rhythmic and lulling. Embers of the old fire, burning hot and orange, savored the crumbling, cracking solitary log—or rather, the meager remains. Eyes drooping, you bolted up only when you swayed dangerously close to toppling over. Instead of staring into the mesmerizing fire, you opted to pace—albeit taking caution not to disturb Methuselah. After what felt like an eternity, you fed the famished flames more tinder; the wood engulfed in mere seconds.

Your watch should have ended a while ago, but, looking at Methuselah sleeping so restfully, your companion had carried the brunt of your shared supplies—supplies of which he provided. No, you let him rest longer still. He deserved it. When not even your chary pacing kept slumber at bay, you prodded Methuselah gently, and he woke with little resistance.

“Your turn,” you mumbled as you tucked yourself into your sleeping bag.

* * * * *

Before dawn threatened to chase away the surfeit of stars, the canteens were filled to capacity, belongings packed securely, and the castle long, long in your wake. With Methuselah’s expertise, you ascended, slowly but surely, the mountain with nary a proper trail. Though the mountain steep—the summit obscured by swirling gray clouds—your progress was laudable regardless.

The weathered gates of Wyrmtooth Village greeted your weary eyes by late noon. Villagers, in modest clothing swarmed—more of an exaggeration forasmuch as too few their numbers—with hoes and pitchforks held in awkward grips, as if unsure to brandish or be at ease. Not expecting the lukewarm greeting, you eyed Methuselah nervously all the while hoping he had the savvy to waylay the situation.

“Bah! Use ye eyes. They innit soldiers.”...But it seemed an elderly woman, leaning heavily on a cane, beat him to the punch. With her scolding, the people lowered their impromptu weapons, and visibly became less tense. She ambled over, offering greetings. “Don’t let them crawkid lot fool ye. Well come to Wyrmtooth. Me name be Firah. What brings ye travelers about?”

Bowing as you introduced yourselves, Methuselah took over, “We are researching the droughts. Do you have any records of rainfall or crop growth?” A man muttered something about _it just raining_ but was by and by ignored.

The old woman’s brow furrowed in thought, creating even more wrinkles on her face. “Naw. We don’t got such things. But me can get everybody after the fields and animals be tended. Suren the lot o’ us can get it straight.” Firah smiled, all toothy and altruistic.

“Firah, they be—” came a protester… 

“—Bah!”... that was subsequently silenced.

Methuselah, beaming with more excitement than you have ever seen, nodded profusely. “We would love that, Lady Firah.”

“Come to me place,” she pointed at a modestly constructed thatched house, though larger than other dwellings nearby. “Just before nightfall.”

With that, the score or so drifted back to their original tasks. Still grinning like a loon, Methuselah turned towards you. “I want to get some soil samples, at the very least. Do you want to…” he trailed.

_Go with him._

_Explore on your own._


	44. 044

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15726676) |

With a gaggle of merchants, Methuselah and you found purchase out of Citadel Orphelia, out of Leviathan—though not before some geolu fell out of a patchwork purse and Evenine guards found the lost coins. Once bountiful forests and fields, now shriveled and barren, gave way to sand and stone. The caravan’s route _should_ have taken a week or two—circumventing the Ihayamut desert by taking winding, but well traversed roads. Yet the wagon sailed gracefully and brazenly across the shifting sands and dunes as if it but a newly paved path.

Whispering to Methuselah, as to not disturb the others—some of which resting—you asked, “How are we travelling like this?”

He leafed through his unfinished manuscript, filled with hasty scribbles, incomplete phrases and ideas, and pointed to a section boldly embellished though asymmetrical from the jostling of the caravan.

“...Sopher… mancy?”

“Yes. It gives objects different attributes. I am quite confident that the wagon’s wheels are affected by sophermancy.”

“How?”

His mouth opened to speak, multiple times, but no answer came forth. Had you known such a simple question would floor him, you wouldn’t have asked. Head hung in shame, he conclusively admitted, “I don’t know.”

Near you, one of the merchants attempted to hold back laughter, and failed if the resultant snorting was anything to go by. 

“ _Chaama melasif_. My apologies for my rude actions. To be fair, only sophermancers understand sophermancy. The boy is right though, the wheels were commissioned by the Synod of Sophers. I am Isara Nej, and this,” she pointed at fair haired man sleeping by her side, “is my partner in crime, Tybalt Valke.”

After introducing yourselves, you asked, “Are you from I’Naghi or Akasha?”

Playing with one of the many vibrantly colored ribbons woven into her braided brown hair, she smiled with deceitful coyness. “I’Naghi. You will never see one from Akasha in public without a mask or veil. Quite old-fashioned, they are. What part of the Republic is your wayfaring’s end?”

“Nowhere. We’re going to Adnan-adeema, actually.” Methuselah chimed. 

“Ohhh… The free city.” She paused a breath, reworking the ribbon back into her braid. She inclined her head to the boy’s papers. “I take it you want to try your luck with sophermancy.”

He nodded.

“The Synod hasn’t been taking new students in some years… but if you look for Su—”

The caravan’s canter increased suddenly. “Bandits!” came the wagoneer’s frantic cry. “We can’t outrun them!”

_[Take out your weapon and fight.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15727747)  
Stay with the caravan._


	45. 045

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15727513) |

Methuselah, kukris unsheathed and at the ready, leapt out of the wagon and into the harsh heat of the desert—into the fray. You wanted to, no, _needed_ to help, but you hesitated solely from the lack of confidence in your shoddy dagger. By extension, you lacked faith in yourself. Everyone, Isara and the now alert Tybalt included, had a pervading determination set in their eyes; steeling their resolve for the ensuing conflict.

You could not afford to hesitate and further. Squinting against the painfully bright sun, you left the wagon’s feeble protection. It took conscious effort to keep your hands from trembling.

The assailants used a craft much reminiscent of a small boat. A single sail caught the wind and they leaned to alter direction. With skill quite telling of a people thriving in the cruel Ihayamut, the men or women—their loose, flowing robes and cloth masks covered much of their features—circled and weaved too akin to vultures waiting for a dying animal to breathe its last. Those sand-boat-gliders needed to be incapacitated and fast.

Methuselah took the offensive, diving at a bandit, rather, passed as was his intent all along. His seemingly reckless somersault merely a means to slice the vulnerable sail. Undeterred, the bandit followed up on foot, his blade fell in a smooth arc—but the boy, no novice to combat, ducked under, a hair’s breadth from getting grazed, and hacked with his kukris. The bandit almost lost his arm but the fatal gash across his torso a more prevalent problem. He crumbled, prone, and the sand became a brilliant red with blood.

Mayhap recognizing a weak link, a bandit came gliding towards you. You couldn’t hear the others fighting around you—just the flapping of your foe’s clothes and the histrionic pounding of your damn heart. Not possessed of Methuselah’s capabilities, you needed to be careful, to bide time until an opening emerged. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you dodged and rolled with every slice, chop, and stab. For now, that was enough. Eventually, a weakness would arise.

However, once you noticed that all the bandit’s deceptively easy attacks were but a ploy to herd you away from the others, your doom assured. More of their accursed contraptions circled you, and you had nowhere to run when they came with weapons poised.

_Your journey ended before it truly began._


	46. 046

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ate an orange slice, thus you are safe from scurvy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did not proofread yet; very sorry for delay. ILUALL

|[ Back to Start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019) | [ Previous Choice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5554019/chapters/15528016) |

Roughly twenty men filled the spartan cafeteria—the number quite large considering the size of your company, but you neither cared nor paid any mind. Instead, you stirred the uncomplicated barley soup, scooping up as many peas as feasible before consuming the foodstuffs. Diligently, Saul sliced an apple and orange into dainty little pieces, arranging them on a plate to share.

Sighing, exaggerated as to garner your attention, he set the paring knife down. “What happened to the girl who not only saved the prince, but also stood up to the captain?”

What, indeed.

Stirring the almost untouched soup for good measure—procrastination tactics implemented in the most base of manner. “I… I can’t do anything.”

But Saul, clearly not content with your comment, reached forward to flick your forehead faintly. “What vague self-depreciation! Try answering that again.”

Your movements ceased as your thoughts fell inward. Why did you doubt yourself? What caused such feelings of inferiority? How could you gain a purpose? “I feel like an outsider and a hindrance.”

He nodded, offering an orange sliver that you mutedly accepted. “And are you making efforts to change?”

Again, you pondered. Your current course led you to Teuta—to where you would secure a role in the ensuing struggle. So, yes, you were doing something. But, realizing, what Saul’s guiding questions lead toward, you rejoindered, “I want to fight. With a mouth like mine, I’m clearly gonna be on the wrong end of something sharp… but I’m worried that I won’t learn quick enough to make a difference.”

The dark haired soldier raised his hand as if to flick you once more but, thankfully, chose to ruffle your hair. “Honesty colors you well.” He took a minute to savor a succulent apple slice slowly. “But don’t fret. I have an amazing teacher… that just so happens to reside in Hjertestaat.”

At your lack of understanding, he smiled gently, mirth warming his dark eyes. “‘Tis our destination—the heart of island nations.”

Though you nodded, you lacked the joviality he possessed. How long did you have to master the basics? Would Saul, Habacuc, Jaakob, and the others leave you behind to reclaim Leviathan whilst you felled imaginary foes with a paltry practice sword?

“Geez you’re hard to please, girl.” Muttering some foreign words, he continued, “We are lucky. You saved His Majesty’s life. Our retreat was covered by a blizzard. And the winds are sailing us faster to Teuta than we expected!”

Allowing the information to set in, you returned his beaming grin albeit weakly. “Yes, you’re right, Saul.” Shrugging, you added, “I guess I gotta stop moping soon, right?”

He flicked your forehead, chuckling. “But of course!”

The rest of the mealtime colloquy pertained predominantly to the many sour faces Freyde made—and Saul also agreed that the captain should be taller. You even finished the barley soup!

***

True to his word, Saul brought you before his teacher—led you by the hand from the moment you went to shore, much to the surprise of Malachi. A simple “taking her to teacher” halted his pending protests, however. 

She, an elderly woman with sharp, clear gray—but her right an unnatural pastel pink—eyes regarded the lot of you keenly. “Welcome to my home,” her arms splayed to draw attention to her abode, or rather, the large courtyard fitted as a training area. “Saul, sunn aviz Joln-fater.”

Hardly frail with age, the woman had a quiet, and ever-present, fierceness. Gray hair meticulously tied back, her countenance remained quite controlled… but even her austere form held the potential for a sudden strike with the sheathed, slender sword resting at her hip. So taken in by her, you failed to hear her direct a question at you.

And to which Saul answered on your behalf, “A student, if you are willing, Antecedent.”

The “Antecedent” eyed you with disparate eyes for many heartbeats. Was your self-doubt showing? Surely it must! Eventually, she commanded, “Sit.”

Heart hammering in your chest, you—both—obeyed.

The woman retreated into her single story, stone dwelling and returned with a slender stick of lit incense secured in a delicate holder. She, wordlessly, sat across from you, perhaps a foot or two, and persisted in maintaining her silence and stillness.

The incense gave off a nostalgic fragrance.

“What do you see?” 

 

_An empty world.  
A world very much the same._


End file.
